


Someone New

by stardropdream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gay Disaster Keith (Voltron), Gay Disaster Shiro (Voltron), Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Sharing a Bed, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 18:19:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16454981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: "Are you alright?" Keith asks, when Shiro flops down beside him on his porch, one sunny and boring Tuesday afternoon.“Ashleigh’s getting married this weekend,” Shiro says. “And I promised I’d go.”“Uh,” Keith says, “Who?”“Ashleigh Watson,” Shiro says, shifting a little to look up at Keith from where he’s still slumped against Keith’s shoulder. “Adam’s sister?”Keith should have known that it was only going to go downhill from there.Or: The one where Keith and Shiro decide that pretending to be dating at Shiro's ex's sister's wedding is the best idea ever. (It isn't.)





	Someone New

**Author's Note:**

> There is no excuse for this fic. I just wanted to hit as many tropes as possible. Shout-out to everyone on twitter who listened to me shout about this fic, but especially [Spooky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyfoot/pseuds/spookyfoot), who very generously offered ideas and listened to me whine while also pumping out half this fic in one sitting. This is my first time writing fake dating, despite loving the trope. I am not sure I did it much justice, but I did my best.
> 
> Also, a note re: some of the tags. I didn't want to mark Adam as a major character because that gives the illusion that Adam has a major role in this fic. This fic is from Keith's POV and Keith does not like Adam. So, just keep in mind that as far as fics go, this one is not the most Adam-positive. Just in case anyone's sensitive to that.

It was a regular, boring Tuesday. Which should have been Keith’s first clue that something was about to go horribly wrong. 

He’s working on a few sketches, just quick gesture drawings of people walking by with their dogs as he sits on the front porch of the house he shares with Hunk and Pidge. Mostly, he’s been drawing the dogs— they’re more interesting than the people, anyway. 

He’s in the middle of sketching out a Doberman mix that walked by with her owner about five minutes ago, trying to remember the exact curve of her ears and the way the afternoon sun hit her fur to get the shading right when he hears a pair of familiar footsteps. 

He knows it’s Shiro. He’d know it’s Shiro no matter what, based purely on familiarity with the sound of his footsteps and the number of times Shiro’s pit-stopped at their place after work. He remembers them purely from their days in school together, too, hearing Shiro’s footfalls outside his dorm room. It’s such a common thing that the days in which Shiro _doesn’t_ stop by to hang out with Keith feels strange and empty. Not that Keith has a very real bias for the days in which he can spend the entire afternoon and evening with Shiro, sometimes convincing him to stay for dinner or even later, playing video games into the night until Shiro passes out on the couch. Those are Keith’s favorite days. His second favorite days are the next morning when he wakes up and Shiro’s there to have breakfast with him before heading home. 

He tucks his pencil into his sketchbook and looks up in time to smile at Shiro in greeting, but the smile freezes before it can fully manifest. Shiro looks exhausted, tired in a way that his job as a personal trainer usually doesn’t leave him. 

“Geez,” Keith says in greeting, to undercut the real worry he feels, “Were the wine moms really bad today?” 

Shiro pulls himself up the steps and sits down on the porch swing next to Keith, not answering right away. That alone is a sure sign of Shiro’s exhaustion since he’ll usually at least smile at Keith’s scathing remarks. The swing pitches back and then begins to sway, Shiro’s feet dragging across the old wood of the porch. 

“Hey, Keith,” Shiro finally says. 

Keith turns a little more towards him, definitely concerned now. “Hey,” he says. “You alright?” 

Shiro chews on the inside of his cheek and says, “I’m okay.”

He isn’t. He knows Shiro’s tendency to dismiss something large as minor, or to swallow down on the things that are bothering him. He _knows_ Shiro. And Shiro knows he knows him, which is why Shiro shakes his head after a moment and tips to the side, letting his head rest on Keith’s shoulder. Keith doesn’t move at first, then closes his sketchbook and sets it aside, curling one arm up to cup the side of Shiro’s head and keep it there against his shoulder, fingers touching at the soft strands of his hair. His thumb rubs a soothing circle after a moment. 

“Hey…” Keith says again, quietly. More a prompting than anything else. 

“I’m alright,” Shiro says again around a sigh. “I’m just being dramatic.” 

“Want to talk about it?” Keith prompts, already knowing Shiro will when he’s ready— the fact that he’d admit so quickly that something’s bothering him is testament to that. Sometimes it took a while for Shiro to actually admit something was wrong, his tendency to self-isolate his problems and pretend he’s alright one of his more annoying habits. Luckily Keith’s gotten pretty good at reading him.

“Ashleigh’s getting married this weekend,” Shiro says. “And I promised I’d go.” 

Keith frowns, deeply, trying to rack his brain to figure out who the fuck Ashleigh even is. Shiro doesn’t have many friends beyond their immediate circle (a fact that Keith finds absolutely outrageous, although Shiro insists it’s because it’s difficult for him to connect to people; considering how quickly _they_ gelled together Keith’s first year of college, Keith finds it hard to believe that others wouldn’t instantly flock to Shiro, too— but then nobody was really asking his opinion on that front, perhaps wisely). But he can’t remember Shiro ever mentioning an Ashleigh, or why her getting married would apparently cause Shiro to be so deflated. 

“Uh,” Keith says, “Who?” 

“Ashleigh Watson,” Shiro says, shifting a little to look up at Keith from where he’s still slumped against Keith’s shoulder. “Adam’s sister?” 

Keith’s lips thin as he presses them together. His fingers itch to scrub through Shiro’s hair, to knead into the back of his neck to comfort him, but it’s too much at once, he knows. He resists, staying in the half-hug like this, Shiro comically slumped to reach Keith’s shoulder. 

Keith kicks his foot off the ground to let the porch swing rock a little, back and forth. It squeaks. 

“You’re… going to Adam’s sister’s wedding?” Keith asks. “Um. You two broke up. Why would you go?”

They’d broken up _over a year_ ago. Almost two now— Keith can’t remember how much time exactly. There’s no earthly reason why Shiro should go back into the Watsons’ orbit, much less Adam’s himself. 

Shiro sighs and heaves himself upright. Keith regretfully drops his hand away. Shiro rubs his hand over the back of his neck, self-conscious. He isn’t looking at Keith. 

“I mean… the ‘save the date’s went out before Adam and I…” He trails off and is quiet for a moment. Keith’s lips thin further, that deep well of hatred he has for Adam threatening to rise up again on command. He quashes it, but only for Shiro’s sake. Shiro continues, “After, I ran into her downtown and just… She said she still wanted me to come, you know? She’s very sweet. She said that it wouldn’t be weird.” 

“Sounds weird,” Keith mutters, perhaps ungraciously. He vaguely recalls Ashleigh now, from the very few gatherings in which Shiro’s friends and Adam’s family would have crossed paths. Engagement party, maybe. 

Shiro laughs, at least, something lightening in his eyes as he looks at Keith, finally. Keith’s heart swoops pathetically down into his belly at the smile. 

“Anyway,” Shiro says, voice soft and unfairly fond as he looks at Keith. This time, he’s the one to kick his foot on the porch, sending the swing rocking again. “I figured… yeah, okay, she’d forget about it and all that. Not a big deal. She was being polite, right? But then she sent a mass email this week about directions to the venue and just…” He sighs. “I can’t back out now. I RSVP’d, you know? But it’s… weird. Adam will be there and I haven’t seen him since I moved out.” 

They fall into a weird silence. Shiro fidgets a little and then drops his hands into his lap. 

“Sorry,” he says around an awkward, self-deprecating laugh. “This is weird. Also, hi, by the way. Sorry I just showed up and dumped this on you.” 

“Hey,” Keith says, reaches out and nearly plants his hand on Shiro’s thigh before thinking better of it and touching his forearm instead, squeezing. “You know I’m always here to listen.” 

Shiro nods, his smile uncertain. “Thanks, Keith.”

“Shiro, you can just _not_ go,” Keith tells him. “What do you care what they think?”

“I know,” Shiro admits. “It’s stupid. It’s just. My email was there and… Adam’s going to be there and then if I don’t show up, won’t that be— I mean. I don’t know.”

“I get it,” Keith says, after a moment. “You want to win the breakup.” 

“I— no,” Shiro says, looking like he’s fighting a smile (a success, Keith thinks). “Keith, no, that’s not it at all. I’m not so petty.”

“But you _are_ competitive,” Keith says. He nudges his shoulder against Shiro’s. “Admit it. You want to win the breakup. That’s the only reason you’re thinking of going, aside from being nice and wanting Ashleigh to be happy or whatever.” 

Shiro’s face looks pinched, like he’s fighting back a smile or fighting back the urge to shove Keith off the porch swing. Keith decides to push his luck, giving Shiro a wide-eyed, expectant look. His lips quirk into an almost smile, the knowing kind that tends to drive people in positions of authority crazy because it’s at once perfectly innocent and yet aggressively disrespectful. It usually never fails to make Shiro laugh. Shiro, right now, is trying really hard not to make eye contact so Keith hitches his feet up onto the bench and wriggles into Shiro’s avoidant view, nearly leaning all the way over him in order to capture his eyes. 

“Hey, hey, Shiro,” he says, grinning. “Come on, admit it. If you can’t tell me the truth, who can you?” 

“Alright, _fine_ ,” Shiro finally says, laughing, and pushing Keith away playfully. “Yes, I want to win the stupid breakup, okay?” 

“Okay,” Keith says. “So go. And win the breakup.” 

Shiro shakes his head. “If I show up without a date, I’ll just look weird and awkward and out of place. I’ll just look… I don’t know. Desperate or something.”

“So bring a date,” Keith offers, although the words taste like salt in his mouth, drying it out entirely. He doesn’t _like_ to think about Shiro dating other people, even if Shiro deserves to go on every single date he wants and to be happy and loved and fawned after by any guy lucky enough to date him. But that’s just Keith’s opinion. 

Shiro groans and slumps in the porch swing, nearly sliding off entirely. 

“Keith,” he whines, “You don’t bring a first date to a _wedding_ , much less one that’s out of town.” 

“Yeah, fair,” Keith agrees. 

He nudges Shiro’s side with his foot until Shiro sighs and grabs it, pushing at it so that Keith nearly tumbles out of the swing with Shiro. They both laugh. Keith’s just glad that some of the clouds have cleared from Shiro’s expression. He smiles at Keith and Keith smiles back, feeling warm and a little flippy inside. 

“So what are you going to do?” Keith asks, more as a prompting for Shiro to keep talking if he wants to or needs to.

Shiro shakes his head, and at least he doesn’t look quite so miserable when he falls into silence, thinking it over. “I guess I’ll go,” Shiro finally relents. “I mean, it’s probably too late to cancel my reservation at the hotel.” He shrugs. “I can’t avoid Adam forever.” 

“I mean, you could,” Keith says. “It’s been a while and you haven’t seen him. You’re literally going to his sister’s wedding because you’re too nice to be a no-show.” 

“It’ll be alright,” Shiro answers. “I’ll just drink a lot and it’ll be fine.”

“And make an ass of yourself? You know you get all silly when you drink,” Keith teases. Shiro laughs and knocks their shoulders together before standing up. He stretches a little and seems a little cheerier, if resigned to his fate. 

“Anyway, enough about that.” He turns to Keith with a smile. “You were in the middle of drawing something, right? I shouldn’t have interrupted.”

“It wasn’t anything important,” Keith says, blushing a bit at Shiro’s unrelenting support of everything Keith does. Shiro’s not the reason Keith’s kept up his hobby, but his enthusiastic reactions to all of Keith’s drawings is definitely a good motivator. He smiles up at Shiro as he picks up his sketchbook and supplies, standing from the swing. “Come on inside. Want to play some video games?” 

“Sure,” Shiro answers and follows Keith inside, toeing off his shoes at the door. He follows Keith into the kitchen as Keith gets them some drinks and snacks to tide them over before Hunk comes home and inevitably feeds them with something of more substance than off-brand Oreos and fizzy flavored water. 

Shiro makes himself comfortable and at home, as he always does, flopping onto the old, beat up couch and propping his feet up on the old coffee table. Keith drops down beside him after depositing the snacks and drinks and then setting his sketchbook far, far away from any potential food-related damage. Shiro stretches out with a long sigh, arms over his head and hooked over the back of the couch. He doesn’t reach for the controller right away and Keith glances at him, just watching him. 

Shiro’s looking up at the ceiling fan, lost in thought. He doesn’t say anything, but it’s clear what he’s thinking about. He has the look in his eye he gets when he’s worried and overthinking but not wanting to let anyone else know. Too bad for him his best friend is Keith, who’s made it his life’s mission to memorize and analyze every one of Shiro’s unique expressions.

“Hey,” he says, jarring Shiro from his thoughts. 

“Sorry,” Shiro says, automatically. His smile is gentle when he looks at Keith. “Were you saying something? I got lost in my head there for a sec.” 

“I was just thinking…” Keith begins as a thought begins to coalesce in his mind. It’s probably because he’s _not_ thinking beyond a desire to reassure Shiro, to wipe that worry from behind his eyes, that he says what he says next: “What if you brought me with you to the wedding?” 

“Huh?” Shiro asks.

“As your date,” Keith says. 

Shiro’s eyes widen. “Wh—”

“I mean,” Keith cuts in quickly as his mind catches up with him, as his heart does a series of acrobatic flips through his chest at the sheer stupidity of his statement. Irrational fear spikes through him as he tries not to read too much into Shiro’s wide-eyed look and clarifies, “Tell everyone I’m your date. That way you don’t have to go alone and it’s not like a… ‘I had to bring a friend because I’m a dateless loser’ kind of thing.”

“Wow, thanks,” Shiro answers, but his voice sounds a little breathy and higher-pitched. He still looks a little shell-shocked and, god, Keith doesn’t want to think about that, doesn’t want to think about how the idea of dating Keith could blindside him so much. It isn’t that terrible of an idea, is it? 

The idea of pretending to be his date, however, probably is. But Keith’s never been one to back down from a challenge once he issues it, and he’s not going to rescind the idea. No, really, he thinks it could work. 

“It’s just for a wedding,” he offers, trying to sound confident so Shiro will bow to his superior logic. “Show off a little how much you’ve moved on, give your gift to Ashleigh or whatever you do at weddings, schmooze, win the breakup, head home. Come on, that’d work, right?” 

Shiro blinks a few times and the slightly dumbfounded look slowly fades into something more thoughtful. His cheeks are a little pink, though, and it’s charming— not that Keith doesn’t think Shiro always looks charming, anyway, but that’s beside the point. 

“I wouldn’t want to put you out like that,” Shiro says after a moment, and Keith honestly thought he’d reject the idea outright, being too noble somehow or thinking it stupid (even if he’d be too polite to call it that). 

“You wouldn’t,” Keith says. “I wasn’t going to be doing anything this weekend, anyway. You’d be doing me a favor and saving me from boredom.” 

“Well…” Shiro trails off, looking uncertain. 

“Think of all the people-watching I could do. You know I like sketching weird faces,” Keith says, because he knows that going at the artist angle will convince Shiro, who’s always one hundred percent ready to support Keith in any of his creative endeavors. “Besides, I like weddings. Weddings are fun.” 

“Keith, you hate weddings,” Shiro laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling. 

“What? When did I say that?” Keith asks. 

“You went ‘ugh’ out loud when you got Allura and Lance’s wedding invitation,” Shiro reminds him, his eyes sparkling with amusement. 

“That’s because it’s Lance,” Keith says. 

“You said, and I quote, ‘Wow, I hate weddings.’” 

“Pretty sure I didn’t say ‘Wow,’” Keith returns. 

“I censored it. It’s called paraphrasing,” Shiro teases around a smile. He looks at Keith for a moment longer, thoughtful. He still hasn’t said no outright and Keith finds himself holding his breath. After a moment, Shiro looks down at his hands and then back up at Keith. “… Are you sure you’d want to go with me? I’m probably making this into a bigger deal than it has to be. If I went on my own, it’d be fine.” 

“Sure it’d be fine,” Keith agrees. “You’re a good person and you’d want to support the couple and the family, and when you run into Adam you’ll be perfectly nice and gracious like you _always_ are.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says, but his voice sounds a little quiet at the mention of Adam.

“But,” Keith continues, “If I go with you, then you get to go around and pretend like you’re completely, one hundred percent over Adam and also I’m, you know, not ugly. So it’d be fine and Adam’s family would look at you and be like, ‘Oh that Takashi Shirogane was always so sweet, it’s so good he’s happy now. Look at that super hot guy he’s with, wow!’ Or whatever they’d say.” 

Shiro smiles at him, eyes soft. “Something like that, sure.” 

“Right,” Keith says with a nod, “And then you can also ward off any weird, drunk uncles who’d try to hit on you. Unless you’re into that.” 

Shiro snorts out a small laugh and kicks at Keith’s thigh. Keith nimbly dodges out of the way, which is to say he nearly side-swipes all the snacks off the table in his effort to dodge around Shiro’s brutal, unprovoked attack. 

“So I don’t know about you,” Keith says, “But bringing me seems like a better option to me. Plus, we can gossip about all the weird people at the wedding, right?” 

“Well,” Shiro says, still smiling, “It’d be nice to have a friend there with me… Otherwise, I’ll only really know Adam’s family.” 

“Yeah,” Keith agrees. He reaches out, placing his hand on Shiro’s shoulder, a little more serious. “Shiro. Let me do this for you, okay? I mean it— it isn’t a problem or imposition. I’m really not doing anything this weekend. And you know I like cake.” 

Shiro’s quiet for a moment and then he sighs. “Yeah… Yeah, okay. Okay. Let’s do it, Keith.” He laughs a little, like the entire idea is absurd— it is, of course it is— and looks at Keith with a wide smile. “Be my fake date to Adam’s sister’s wedding?” 

“I thought you’d never ask,” Keith says and squeezes Shiro’s shoulder for good measure. 

It’s not a big deal, he thinks. It’s what any good friend would do, and he and Shiro are the best of friends, have been inseparable practically since the day they met. It isn’t Keith’s fault that he’s also helplessly, completely in love with his best friend and what he’s just volunteered himself to do sounds like practiced torture, but— if it helps Shiro, that’s all that really matters. 

He flops forward towards the coffee table and opens up the off-brand Oreos. He sees Shiro eyeing them and offers one to him. He knows Shiro’s secret desire for junk food and often fuels it, so he just grins a little as Shiro takes it and eats it in one huge bite rather than peeling it apart to eat in components like a regular person. 

This weekend, he thinks, won’t be so bad.

 

-

 

He firms up the details with Shiro over the next few days over text and when Shiro pops by each evening after work. Friday afternoon, after work, Shiro drives to the house to pick Keith up. They have a few hours’ drive ahead of them to get to the coast and the wedding venue. Shiro pulls up just as Keith’s finishing shoving necessary clothes into his suitcase and hurrying down to make sure the front door’s unlocked. 

Pidge and Hunk are playing on the gaming console together. Based on Pidge’s triumphant shrieks, she’s winning. Lance and Allura are over, too, Lance making himself comfortable as if he’s never actually moved out. Despite Allura’s generally positive influence on the idiot, he’s still taken off his _socks_ of all things and left them on the coffee table. Keith tries to take a steadying breath because he really doesn’t have time to murder Lance in his own home. Too many witnesses. 

Hunk spots him and his bag and pauses the game— or gives up on the fact that he’ll ever beat Pidge and resigns to his fate. 

“Hey man, you heading out?” he asks. 

“Yeah. Shiro just pulled in,” Keith says, figuring it’ll only be a moment more before Shiro’s knocking on the door to confirm the statement. 

“Alright. Have fun,” Hunk says, and he sounds so much like a dad that Keith can’t help but smile a little, a small twitch of his lips. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. 

“And be careful,” Hunk says. “I mean— you sure this is a good idea?” 

Keith shrugs, and fiddles with getting his shoes on so he doesn’t have to look at Hunk. Figures it was a mistake to tell his roommates about the full extent of his and Shiro’s plan. Figures, too, that Hunk would be immediately concerned, considering. He’s never outright _said_ his feelings about Shiro to anyone, but Hunk and Pidge are intelligent enough to notice it from a mile away, and Lance is nosy enough to eventually wheedle it out of them when he didn’t figure it out on his own. It’s something of an open secret. Keith plans on never acknowledging it in front of him. 

Still, though, Hunk’s concern makes a blush start rising up his neck and towards his cheeks. 

“Oh, let him make stupid choices,” Pidge mutters as she unpauses the game and proceeds to utterly butcher Hunk’s character on screen. “Maybe if they kiss they’ll get over themselves.” 

Keith ignores her. 

“Alright, see you guys later,” he calls and opens the door and nearly crashes into Shiro, who has his hand up and ready to knock.

“Oh!” Shiro gasps in surprise, and then grins. “Hey, Keith! Good timing.” 

“Hey,” Keith says, much softer than he intends. He can practically hear Pidge’s eyeroll behind him.

“Hey, Shiro,” Lance calls with a lazy wave. 

Shiro waves back at everyone and greets them all by name, because he’s kind and wonderful and thoughtful like that. 

“Sorry to show up only to leave,” Shiro says, smiling, “Wish we could stay. But Keith and I have a long drive ahead of us. I want to make sure we don’t hit traffic leaving the city.” 

“You kids have fun,” Lance says, and Keith can tell he’s trying not to laugh. He utterly fails at the whole ‘dad’ vibe that Hunk’s perfected. “Make good choices. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” 

“Ugh, okay, bye,” Keith calls, and pushes Shiro out of the door and makes a point of making deadly eye contact with each of them (sans Allura, who has the decency to laugh behind her hand rather than openly) before shutting the door with a definitive snap. He turns to Shiro and huffs, “Enough of the Peanut Gallery.” 

Shiro’s mouth is twitching up into a smile, holding back a laugh. “You sound like an old man when you say that.” 

“You know I can still go back inside and leave you to your fate,” Keith says, hoisting up his bag and hip-checking Shiro before jumping down the steps off the porch and heading towards Shiro’s beat-up car. He hears Shiro laughing and following behind him. 

“I’m really glad you’re doing this, Keith,” he tells him. He opens up the trunk and Keith drops his bag off before heading to the passenger seat. Shiro slides into the driver’s seat beside him and he looks unfairly handsome as always as he drops one arm behind Keith’s seat and twists around to reverse. He’s so used to Shiro wearing workout gear or sweats, since that’s usually what he shows up in after work, that seeing him in a casual pair of (tight) jeans and a button-down leaves Keith feeling a little breathless at first. It’s pathetic. It’s not the first time he’s seen Shiro wearing _jeans_. It’s just— been a while. 

“Sure,” he says, because his mouth is made of cotton and he can’t say anything else that would make logical sense. He pulls on a pair of sunglasses as the car points west and Shiro starts driving. 

The drive is, for the most part, uneventful. Shiro’s a responsible driver and tends to focus on the road, so it’s easy enough to zone out listening to the radio as they travel the highway heading towards the coast. Keith zones out a bit, or pulls out his phone to check messages, or just watches Shiro, whose eyes are on the road and not on Keith. His arms look really nice poised up against the wheel, the button-down rolled up to his elbows. The hair on his arm is light, like his hair, enough so that it’s only when the sun hits it just right that he can see them. The setting sun ahead of them reflects off Shiro’s silver hair and his jaw is clenched in concentration whenever they hit congestion. Shiro gets nervous driving sometimes, and it’s then that Keith knows to start talking about inane crap until Shiro relaxes. 

“I hate this song,” he says, at one point, just because he knows Shiro will laugh and obnoxiously start singing along. He does, shouting out the lyrics to the pop song as Keith keeps pretending to interrupt him. The song gets stuck in his head, but it’s worth it. 

“Here,” Shiro says, once the song on the radio fades. It’s starting to get staticy, so Shiro hands over his phone. “Go ahead and hook it up. Judge me for my music taste.”

“Please,” Keith snorts, taking the phone and fishing around between the seats for the connecting cord. “I’ve known you have shit taste since the moment I met you.” 

Shiro laughs. It’s light and airy and perfect. Everything about Shiro is perfect, Keith thinks miserably. He plugs in the phone and accidentally brushes his hand over Shiro’s thigh. This sends him into a silent fit, blushing as he thumbs through Shiro’s music and decidedly does not look at Shiro. His thigh was so firm. 

He selects a song and lets it play, setting Shiro’s phone down in the cup holder before glancing up at him. Shiro’s eyes are still on the road, but his cheeks are red. Or maybe it’s just the setting sun making all of him look golden and warm. 

“Hey,” Shiro says, after they lapse again into a silence, just listening to the music, “Can I talk to you about something?” 

Keith glances at him. “What’s up?”

“It’s about something you said, before,” Shiro says, frowning as he peers through the windshield. It’s a little hard to read his expression with the sunglasses, but Keith studies his profile. After a moment, he must finally feel Keith’s gaze on him because he glances over at him, just a flash, before looking back at the road. His grip on the steering wheel tightens, just a little. “When you agreed to do this. I… You said that I could pretend to be over Adam this way.” 

“Oh,” Keith says, cautious. “Yeah?” 

“I just…” Shiro drums his fingers against the steering wheel and bites his lip. He glances at Keith again and then away, unwilling to take his eyes completely off the road for too long. “I just… need you to know that I am. Over him, I mean.” 

“Oh,” Keith says again, and then nods. “Okay, Shiro.” 

“I’m over him,” Shiro says again, more confidently this time. “It’s been long enough. It’s… I mean, I’m the one who called the engagement off, really. In the end. I mean, there were other factors, but he…” 

He trails off. Keith’s quiet for a moment. For all his closeness with Shiro, they never actually really talked, in great detail, about the break-up. It was just something that happened. It was just something Keith supported Shiro through, the details unneeded. All he needed to know was that he needed to support Shiro, and he did. That was enough. 

Shiro never really wanted to go into detail about everything that happened in those final days. All Keith really remembers, of course, is holding Shiro in the aftermath of the breakup, Shiro crashing on their couch while he figured out his next steps. Keith remembers holding him all night, that first night, hating Adam with every fiber of his being, hating the way Shiro spoke about himself in those moments, touched at his ring finger with something like regret, but more like resignation. _Figures I’d ruin everything,_ he’d said at one point, sad and quiet and heartbroken. Some of Keith’s hatred for Adam still lingers, no matter how unfounded or founded it might be. 

When Shiro doesn’t continue or elaborate, Keith says, “Hey. I believe you. I’m sorry I said that.”

“I know you didn’t mean it that way,” Shiro’s quick to reassure. “I just… wanted you to know. Needed you to know. This isn’t— I’m really grateful you’re helping me, you know? You’re a good friend, Keith. I just… don’t want you to think that I’m heartbroken or some needy ex or something.”

“I didn’t think that,” Keith reassures him. “I’m pretty sure you couldn’t ever be the crazy ex-boyfriend.” 

Shiro snorts out a small laugh, although he doesn’t look entirely amused. 

Keith pauses, and then reaches out— touches Shiro’s shoulder. Tensions leeches off him immediately and he slumps forward, sighing. His sunglasses slide down his nose and Keith catches sight of his eyes as he glances at him, soft eyes pinning him to his seat. 

“I really…” Keith trails off again. He shakes his head. “Hey, I get to eat cake this weekend. I can’t complain about being your fake boyfriend.” 

“We’ll have fun,” Shiro says, quietly, and he lifts one hand off the steering wheel to cover Keith’s hand on his shoulder and squeeze once. He lingers only a moment before returning both hands to the steering wheel, even though they’re on the highway and only going in a straight line. 

“Yeah,” Keith agrees, quiet.

 

-

 

They get to the hotel a little while after sunset. It’s a nice resort, as far as Keith can tell. He doesn’t have much interest in these things and thus doesn’t really have a baseline to determine if the area is fancy or not. It seems so. There’re other people parking and unloading their bags, looking like other guests for the wedding. There’s a sign in the lobby welcoming friends of the couple. 

“Looks like the whole hotel’s booked just for the wedding,” Shiro observes from behind Keith as he carries both their bags into the lobby.

“Looks that way,” Keith agrees absently, eyeing the people around them, figuring they must be guests, too. 

Shiro’s frowning at a chalkboard propped up outside the hotel’s restaurant, inviting guests of the wedding to enjoy a cocktail hour the night before. 

“Any interest?” Shiro asks as he turns towards Keith. “Because…”

Keith looks at Shiro, notes the lines of exhaustion deepening across his face. He shakes his head quickly. “We should get settled first, yeah?”

A small smile plucks at Shiro’s mouth. “Yeah. Good idea.”

Keith pushes Shiro’s hands away when he reaches for their bags and picks them up himself. “I’ve got these. You check us in, okay?”

“Sure,” Shiro agrees, his smile wider now. “Thanks, Keith.”

Keith nods and follows behind him as they make their way to the reception desk. Keith lingers a respectful distance away as Shiro sorts everything out, checking in and confirming his payment, getting the keys and anything else he might need. The woman is pleasant and friendly and when Shiro turns way, he really does look exhausted. 

Keith hums a little in greeting as Shiro returns to his orbit and together they head towards the hotel’s elevator. 

“We’re on the fifth floor,” Shiro says and holds out a key. Keith lifts his eyebrows, making no move to take the key since he’s holding two suitcases. “Oh,” Shiro says in realization and then leans forward to tuck the key into Keith’s jeans pocket for him. “There you go. We’re room 503.” 

“Thanks,” Keith mutters as the elevator door opens and he scrambles inside, his cheeks burning just from the feeling of Shiro’s fingertips brushing the top of his thigh through the seconds-long visit inside his pocket. He’s pathetic. 

The room, once they get there, is much fancier than Keith expected, with tasteful decorations and plush carpets— and one bed. Keith’s eyes zero on it immediately and he looks around, desperate for a pull-out couch or a Murphy bed to suddenly descend from the wall. No such luck. He sets the bags down at the foot of the bed, not daring to meet Shiro’s eyes as he stalks around the room like a caged animal. He drags his fingertips over everything he can reach— bedside table, lamp, curtains covering the door to the balcony. 

When he turns away from the window, he finds Shiro’s eyes on him. He looks shy. 

“I… I was going to ask for another room, but the hotel’s booked,” Shiro confesses. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Keith says, and really, it is. Maybe. Hopefully. It’s just a bed. It doesn’t have to mean anything. He’s comfortable with Shiro. 

He looks around the room, drinking in the decorations, trying to force himself away from the small panic. He turns again and opens the balcony’s sliding door. The warm night air washes in, pushing back his hair as he breathes in the scent of the ocean. If he listens carefully, he can hear it over the sounds of the wedding guests down below in the restaurant, enjoying cocktail hour on the veranda. Keith steps out onto the balcony and looks out. 

He has a wide view of where, he supposes, the wedding will be taking place tomorrow. There are lush gardens down below, sprawling out away from the hotel. Tall trees, flower-plump pushes, and little pathways running between it all. A pond in the center of it. There’s an opening in the gardens, surrounded by bright, blooming flowers where chairs have been set up in two chunks, a central lane between them, leading to a rose-covered archway. Undoubtedly where the wedding will take place tomorrow. There are some hotel employees roping up some fairy lights. Keith watches them absently. They’re too far away for him to hear, but he catches wisps of laughter as they work. 

He hears Shiro moving around behind him in the room, getting situated. He doesn’t turn around but just takes comfort in having Shiro near, the easy comfort of recognizing his presence. He knows those footfalls. He knows that small sigh means Shiro thinks something’s cute— the lamps on either side of the dresser, or the picturing hanging over the bed, maybe. He knows the sound of Shiro settling himself, moving around because he feels restless, because there’s a reason he became a personal trainer at a gym, because sitting still scares him sometimes. 

Keith watches the ocean beyond the resort’s boundary line, the way the rising moon reflects off the water. 

“Something interesting out there?” Shiro finally calls, once his wandering around settles. Keith hears the bed shift as Shiro sits down, directly behind him. 

Usually having someone at Keith’s back would make him feel cornered and nervous, but it’s Shiro. He turns around to look at Shiro over his shoulder and then turns fully, leaning back against the balcony railing. 

“Just setting up for the wedding down there, looks like,” he says. 

“How’s it looking?” Shiro asks with a laugh, leaning back on his hands. The bed looks unfairly luxurious, the big comforter sinking beneath Shiro’s weight. He looks so handsome, just relaxed and cool on the edge of the bed, arms flexed to hold up his weight. 

Keith turns away and looks out over the resort grounds instead of looking at Shiro. 

“Seems really extravagant,” Keith says vaguely. He shifts a bit so he can cross his arms. He shrugs. “I mean, most weddings are, I guess. Guess that’s not very descriptive.” 

“What do you mean?” Shiro asks him.

“I mean, weddings are kinda performative, right?” Keith says, blushing. “Standing in front of a bunch of people and forcing them to watch you talk about how much you love each other? Shouldn’t that be something more private?” 

There’s a strange silence that follows this statement. Keith isn’t sure how to place it, that awkwardness that suddenly buzzes between him and the man sitting behind him. 

“Oh,” Shiro says, but it isn’t really a sound of realization, more a sound to fill the space. 

There’s a long pause again. 

“You don’t want to get married someday, Keith?” Shiro asks, but his voice sounds strange— small and far away. 

Keith turns towards him, frowning, concern pinching his brow as he looks at Shiro. He’s sitting, calm and collected, on the edge of the bed. Nothing about him seems wrong, but there’s something off in the way he holds his shoulders. He’s looking at Keith, a frown etching his mouth downwards.

“I…” Keith falters, feels his cheeks turn pink. “I guess I haven’t thought about it. I mean—” He flounders as Shiro’s eyes don’t budge away from gazing at him, earnest. He resists the urge to fidget, keeping his arms crossed over his chest. “I mean, I figure that if the… right person came along, then sure. Yeah. If that’s what they wanted, you know? But it’s… I don’t know. I don’t really need that? It’s enough to be with the person I… love.” 

Shiro’s quiet for a long moment and Keith worries that he’s somehow said the wrong thing, wonders at how he could say the wrong thing, or why it could matter to Shiro what his answer to this is.

“I’d, uh, probably elope or something,” Keith says. “What do I care what anyone else thinks about me marrying someone? It’d just be between us, right?” 

Shiro studies him and then nods, accepting Keith’s answer. He doesn’t offer judgment on the statement, not that Keith feels like Shiro is judging him, but he feels thoroughly ill-footed for this conversation, suddenly. 

“W- why,” he finally manages, “I mean, what about you? Do you want to get married someday, Shiro?”

He nearly slaps his hand to his forehead at the question, instantly wishes he could snatch it back. Shiro and Adam _were_ engaged, no matter how short the engagement. They’d been _engaged._ To be married. Although the ring Adam got Shiro was too big for his finger and slipped off enough that, slowly, Shiro wore it only for special occasions, kept it in a box on his dresser. Until finally he just stopped wearing it at all. In hindsight, Keith knows it wasn’t just because the ring was too big, but because of issues between him and Adam. But—

Shiro smiles, though. “I don’t think I’d ever want something quite like this,” he admits, indicating the scenery behind Keith’s shoulder, although at first it looks like he’s gesturing to Keith himself and Keith feels something leap into his chest and twist him all up inside. Shiro shrugs. “But… like you. I mean, if the right guy came along? I’d… I guess I don’t see it as performative, necessarily. It’s more— an invitation to celebrate with all the people you love. You’re marrying someone you love and you’re surrounded by the people who care about you. You’re promising forever with one person. Yeah, it’s a private moment but… why wouldn’t you want to share it with the people who care about you? It’s… a chance to celebrate how much you care, too.” 

Keith flushes and manages a small nod, thinking of his mother he’s connected with after years of absence, tries to imagine what it would be like to be a groom at a wedding and to have her there. He can understand Shiro’s point, maybe. 

“I guess that’s true,” he acknowledges. “Sorry… I don’t want it to sound like I’m anti-wedding or something. You did invite me here, after all.”

Shiro smiles and pats the spot on the bed next to him. Keith hesitates only for a moment before approaching and sitting down beside him. Shiro’s smile is warm, understanding. He’s always warm and understanding, Keith thinks, his heart giving a pathetic little flip as he drinks in Shiro’s face. 

“Sometimes we feel differently once we fall in love, I guess,” Shiro offers. He sounds far away again, for a moment, strained or uncertain— or perhaps Keith is projecting because the moment Shiro offers _that_ he wants to sink into the floor and cease to exist. 

“Yeah,” Keith says, his voice sounding wooden to his own ears. 

“And if you decide _not_ to elope, promise me you’ll make me the best man, yeah?” Shiro asks as he knocks his shoulder against his. He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Who else would I ask?” Keith mutters, and after a moment remembers to nudge back against Shiro’s comforting weight. They sit there, leaning against each other. 

Keith looks down at the bed, the space between their thighs. He could nudge closer and be pressed to Shiro fully. He doesn’t move. 

When he looks back up at Shiro, Shiro’s smiling at him— gentle and kind and good-hearted, as he always is. Keith is not so pathetic as to go breathless, but he feels that his returning smile is wobbly and likely absurd to look at. 

“I, uh… maybe we should get down there. Get food, and all that,” Keith offers. “You could probably use a drink after that long drive.”

“I look that bad, huh?” Shiro asks with a self-deprecating laugh. 

“Oh, shut up,” Keith scolds and knocks his shoulder hard against Shiro’s. “You could roll around in mud and look better than half of us.” 

Shiro snorts out a small laugh. “Yeah right… But getting food’s not a bad idea.” 

Keith eyes the open balcony window, where the sound of hotel guests down below still rises up. “Think it’s an open bar, or are they making us pay for everything this weekend after making us show up here?”

“Look at you, sounding like a cranky wedding guest,” Shiro says around a laugh. “You’re a plus one, buddy. You don’t get to complain.” 

Shiro stands and adjusts his shirt, rolling down the sleeves. Keith tries not to stare blatantly at the flex of his forearms before they’re covered by the soft material of the shirt. Shiro holds his arms out.

“Think I look presentable or should I change?” 

“Who cares?” Keith snorts as he stands. He probably looks like a tired rat or whatever Lance used to call him every time he tried to pull all-nighters in college. 

“Keith,” Shiro laughs. 

“You look fine,” Keith says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Very model-y. If you’re hoping to get some guys to swoon down there, you’ll probably succeed.”

“You’re such an ass,” Shiro says, affectionately. 

Keith rolls his eyes to keep from blushing, finger-combing his hair to try to look a little presentable, too. If the point is that he’s supposed to be Shiro’s awesome new boyfriend, then he should try to at least look the part. He glances at himself in the mirror hanging over the dresser and frowns at his reflection. Shiro looks fine— he’s always handsome, after all— but Keith looks tired and a bit like he _did_ crawl out from underneath a bed after five minutes of sleep. 

He sighs and tugs at his hair. Shiro comes up behind him, frowning first at Keith and then looking up to meet his eyes in the reflection. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I was just thinking,” Keith says, not sure how to phrase this in a way that isn’t going to sound stupid. He pushes onward, accepting his fate: “If the whole point of me being here is to prove to Adam and his family that you’ve moved on, I should probably look hotter, right?” 

He’s maybe starting to see the holes in his plan. It’s not like he’s someone random. Adam _knows_ him, at least a little bit. Adam and Keith were hardly ever close, but put forth a valiant effort for Shiro’s sake to get along. Keith always got the feeling, though, that Adam didn’t like or dislike him— he just never thought of him at all. 

“Keith,” Shiro says around a warm laugh, “You’re hot.” In the mirror, Keith watches as Shiro’s entire face turns bright red following this statement and he stumbles, “I mean— anyone would think so. I— people will swoon for you, too. I’m sure. I know it.” 

Keith feels heat creeping up his face and he hooks his hands over the back of his neck, ducking his head to hide his smile. He knows Shiro doesn’t mean it like that, but, well, it leaves him feeling a little floaty. 

“You don’t have to try to make me feel better,” Keith mutters, smiling, feeling like his face will never not be pink after this. He fiddles with his hair again. “I mean… I’m next to you. That’s already a losing battle. Who’s going to look at me when you’re right there?” 

“Keith,” Shiro says around a sputter, then laughs out an embarrassed little giggle. 

“Okay, hold on,” Keith says and darts to his bag, digging around until he finds a hairtie and a button-down shirt instead of the old, tattered grey shirt he’s been wearing for three days straight. He dives into the bathroom and wets his fingers to comb through his hair and try to wrestle it back into something resembling a ponytail. His hair is an awkward length and the ponytail’s too high up on the back of his head, leaving the scruff at the nape of his neck anyway. Keith doesn’t pause to care too much, yanking his old shirt off over his head and fumbling to button up the new shirt, a deep red instead of grey. 

He looks at himself in the mirror. His cheeks are still pink. His hair looks a little more presentable, but still disheveled. His shirt isn’t wrinkly, but it isn’t perfectly pressed, either. Keith decides it’s okay. After all, they’re two boyfriends coming back down after checking in to a hotel— it’s not unreasonable that maybe he and Shiro would be pleasantly rumpled. 

That just makes him blush more as he exits the bathroom and looks at Shiro. “Better?” 

Shiro looks at him and he blinks once and then gives him a small smile. His cheeks flush pink. He’s quiet for a moment and Keith feels the distinct realization that Shiro is checking him out and it’s leaving him feeling a little uncentered. He looks away, clearing his throat, and staring at his reflection in the mirror above the dresser.

“Um,” Shiro says, quietly, after a moment. “You look nice. You looked nice before, too.” 

“Right,” Keith says, his voice sounding wooden. “So, uh, how are we doing this?”

“Huh?” Shiro asks.

Keith looks at him. “Are we… going down there holding hands or what?” 

“Um,” Shiro says, intelligently. 

Keith shifts from foot to foot, feeling nervous. God, it feels like a first date only somehow so much worse because it’s Shiro, his best friend, his very unattainable and attractive best friend. Keith takes a long, steadying breath and pushes onwards. 

“I mean… we can just do what feels right,” Keith finally decides. “Whatever you want, Shiro. This is your weekend.” 

“Right,” Shiro says, weakly, and scratches the back of his neck. He seems to take a steadying breath, too. “Let’s just… see how it goes? I didn’t… really think about this.” 

“Okay,” Keith says. He bites his lip, wanting to reach out and reassure Shiro, because he suddenly looks smaller, confused. But he resists, his hands feeling sweaty and strange. He shoves them into the pockets of his jeans. 

They head down to the lobby together. Keith rocks back and forth from his heels to the balls of his feet. Shiro’s quiet for a long time, just sneaking glances at Keith out of the corner of his eye. 

Keith takes a deep breath as the doors prepare to open and then he snaps his hand out and grasps Shiro’s. Shiro startles, looking down at their hands and then up at Keith. Keith lifts his eyebrows. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, keeping his grip loose enough for it to be laughably easy for Shiro to free himself.

Instead, Shiro hesitates only a moment before holding Keith’s hand back, tightening the grip. “Yeah. It’s okay. Um. More than okay.” 

They walk together, holding hands, through the hotel lobby and into the restaurant. There are guests all around but it doesn’t seem to be anyone that Shiro immediately recognizes. They head to the bar and place an order for drinks and appetizers to tide them over. Shiro only lets go of his hand to pull out his wallet to open up a tab. Keith fumbles for his wallet to try to do the same, but Shiro just adds Keith’s order to his own before turning away. He takes up Keith’s hand again and tugs with a small, shy smile. Together, they head towards the patio. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Keith says. 

“I don’t mind,” Shiro says. “You’re here because of me, after all.” 

Keith huffs, blushing, looking down at their hands. “I guess.” 

They spend the wait for their drinks and food laughing and teasing each other. It feels normal again, after that brief moment of tension. Keith’s hand rests on the table they’re standing at, laughing, and Shiro’s palm covers his easily for anyone glancing by. It’s easy. It’s normal. It almost feels like any night he might spend with Shiro, sprawled out on the couch eating off-brand Oreos, or heading to a movie together after a particularly bad session with a client left Shiro needing to decompress. This is Shiro. His best friend. It doesn’t have to be weird. 

Naturally, he must have jinxed it, because as soon as he thinks that, Shiro tenses up beside him, shoulders going rigid. 

“Shiro?” Keith asks, peering over to where Shiro’s looking to figure out what’s caused him to tense up so bad, half-expecting Adam to be there. 

It isn’t Adam, but it is Adam’s parents. He recognizes them vaguely from the one time he ever saw them at Shiro and Adam’s engagement party. 

“Hey,” Keith whispers, nudging Shiro gently. “Shiro?”

“Sorry, I just…” Shiro’s mouth twists up a little. Keith can’t really blame him. He doesn’t know how he’d react if he were to suddenly see his ex-future-in-laws. It doesn’t matter how much time Shiro’s had to prepare for it.

“It’s okay,” Keith tells him and turns his palm up to squeeze Shiro’s hand. 

This seems to snap Shiro back into focus, remembering their hands are still pressed together on the table. He stares down at the table, and gulps. He fidgets with his free hand, tugging at and trying to adjust his collar. 

“I should say hi,” Shiro says, reluctantly. “That’s the right thing to do, right?”

“I guess?” Keith asks. He’s literally never been in this situation before. He’s dated people in the past, but nothing that lasted long enough to warrant an awkward interaction with an ex’s parents. 

“I just… feel bad,” Shiro admits. “About lying. I didn’t… I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think about that part when we agreed to all this. That I’d be lying.”

“Hey,” Keith says, softly, touching his arm and letting it rest there. “Say the word and we call it off. I can just be your friend this weekend, yeah? We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, Shiro.” 

Shiro smiles at him, and his eyes go soft. “I know.” His smile fades. “I just… Maybe this was a stupid idea. You know I’m not a good liar.” 

“Well,” Keith says, biting his lip. “I mean… technically, it’s not lying. I’m your friend. And I’m a boy. So, you know. Technically, I’m your boyfriend.”

Shiro’s entire face turns red, even the tips of his ears turning pink, following this statement. “It’s— it’s not quite the same, Keith.” 

Keith feels his face turning red, too. His mind still rings around _I’m your boyfriend, I’m your boyfriend, I’m your boyfriend—_

“Right,” Keith says, strained. “Okay. Um.” He clears his throat and presses on. “Look, you don’t have to _lie_ too much. I mean, it isn’t like you haven’t dated anyone before. Just act like you did when you dated Adam.” 

“Keith,” Shiro says, voice strained. His face is still a little pink. It looks pretty against his silver hair, Keith’s brain very unhelpfully supplies. “Keith,” Shiro says again, as if trying to push these words out, “It’s not… I. It doesn’t work like that. I mean, dating you wouldn’t be like dating Adam.”

“Oh,” Keith says, voice thin. Of course. Of course he knows that— and of course that’d be the case. Shiro and Adam dated for _years_ , they were going to get _married._ And Keith is just Shiro’s friend. Of course Shiro couldn’t just pretend to love Keith the way he loved Adam. 

“I mean,” Shiro says, hurriedly, looking at Keith. His eyebrows pinch together as he stumbles. “It’s… different. For each person you date. It’s different. It should be different. I mean…”

“Okay, okay,” Keith interrupts, squeezing Shiro’s arm. Shiro snaps his mouth shut. Keith smiles up at him. “Okay, it’s okay. So let’s just… It can’t be too hard to think about what you’d do if you were to date me, right?”

Shiro is silent for a half second too long and then says, quietly, “Right.” 

“So it’s okay. We’ve got this,” Keith tells him. “And if you start to mess up, I’ll jump in, okay?” 

Shiro nods, silent.

“It’s going to be okay, Shiro. They’re hardly going to quiz you on our dating life,” Keith reassures him. “We just walk up, say hi, and leave. Easy.” 

Keith’s hand slides down his arm, lingering in a way he never lets himself— letting anyone who might be watching see the possessive drawl of his palm down the length of Shiro’s arm, resting at his wrist and curling his fingers loosely, holding on. Shiro’s cheeks are pink.

“Unless you want to call it off now,” Keith tells him. “I’ll do whatever you want to do, Shiro. Anything. Just say the word.” 

Shiro thinks it over for a moment, looking at Keith’s hand curled around his wrist. Then he shakes his head. “No. I’m okay. Let’s just do it.” 

“Okay,” Keith tells him, and squeezes his wrist gently. 

“Okay,” Shiro says with a deep breath. “Here we go.” 

Shiro steps away from the table and his hand shifts, takes Keith’s so they’re holding hands again. He takes a step, looking at Keith for a moment. He looks so serious. He clenches his jaw for a moment, just looking at him. Keith offers him a small smile. He hopes it’s encouraging.

Shiro takes a steadying breath and turns again, shoulders squared, and pulls Keith so they’re walking side by side. They approach the couple— Adam’s parents— and Keith can feel Shiro’s palm going sweaty against his own. Keith squeezes once, hoping it’s reassuring, as Adam’s parents turn. Mrs. Watson’s face spreads into a wide smile— Adam’s smile, Keith thinks absently, seeing the resemblance instantly. 

“Takashi!” she calls out, warm, “Oh, it’s so good to see you. It’s been so long.”

“Hi, Mrs. Watson,” Shiro says with a smile that doesn’t quite belong on his face. His fake smile, Keith recognizes it. The same smile he wears when a gym member he’s supposed to be training starts giving him attitude about the work-out schedule or their progress. “It’s nice to see you, too. It’s been a while.”

“Oh, darling, you can still call me Judy,” she dismisses instantly. “You’re being here is testament to the fact that our families aren’t completely disconnected.”

Shiro continues to smile but doesn’t fix the address. He reaches out to shake Mr. Watson’s hand, exchanging greetings as Mrs. Watson begins gushing about Ashleigh’s wedding and all the work that’s gone into it. Keith notes how they purposefully do not mention Adam. He also notes how they don’t seem to look in his direction at all. 

Keith doesn’t have much of an impression of the Watsons, other than they seem generically nice, maybe a little aggressively nice. Shiro’s holding his own, though, and Keith isn’t one to insert himself into a conversation, much less in this situation. He contents himself with just staying near Shiro, leaning into his space, arm pressed to his arm, their hands still clasped. It’s easy, like this. 

“Oh,” Shiro breaks in after a moment, interrupting Mrs. Watson mid-thought about Ashleigh’s flower arrangements, voice going soft as he turns to Keith, remembering himself. “I’m sorry— Keith, this is Mr. and Mrs. Watson, the parents of the bride.” He turns towards them, and this time his smile seems more genuine, his voice going soft when he says, “This is Keith, uh, my— my boyfriend.” 

Keith’s cheeks flush pink at the title again. He’ll need to get used to that unless he wants to blow this for Shiro. 

“Ah,” Mrs. Watson says, pausing. She turns to look at Keith, to _really_ look at him, and that, too, reminds Keith aggressively of Adam, how deeply he studies things, people or otherwise. After a moment, though, she smiles. “It’s nice to meet you, Keith.”

Her tone isn’t unkind, but it isn’t that warm, either. Keith tries to smile and knows it doesn’t really fit on his face properly. “We’ve met before, actually.”

He knows it’s a mistake to say as soon as he says it. _Yeah, I met you at the engagement party for your son and his ex. The ex I’m now dating. No big deal._

He clears his throat. “But, it’s nice to see you again.” 

He hopes she won’t ask for clarification. Her smile looks so wide like it’s going to split her open. She doesn’t ask for elaboration and only says, “Of course. Welcome to Ashleigh’s big day.” 

“The day before her big day,” Mr. Watson says, the only words he’s actually spoken beyond greeting Shiro. He doesn’t offer his hand to Keith and Keith doesn’t particularly care. 

“Anyway,” Shiro says. “We’ll get out of your way. I’m sure you’d like to enjoy your evening, but… well. We’ll see you at the wedding tomorrow.” 

“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Watson says with a pleasant enough nod. She reaches out and touches Shiro’s arm. “It’s so good to see you, Takashi. It really has been too long. You know how sad I was to hear about you and Adam. Please, don’t be a stranger.”

“I know,” Shiro says, faintly, his smile splintering on his face. “It’s nice to see you, Mrs. Watson. Mr. Watson.” 

He steps back with a small _well, goodbye_ , and leads Keith away. He waits until they’re out of the Watsons’ line of sight before he breathes a sigh of relief. Keith glances over his shoulder in time to see others approaching Mrs. Watson, capturing her attention. Shiro slumps a little beside him.

“Hey,” Keith whispers. “That went okay.” 

“Mmf,” Shiro says in something resembling a response. He slumps a little against Keith once they’re back at their table. Keith leans against him, steady and purposeful, supporting his weight easily. He curls his arm around him, after a moment, languid and possessive— what a boyfriend would do, he figures. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Shiro says. “She’s just… you know. Like that.”

“Aggressively suburban?” Keith guesses.

Shiro’s mouth quirks into a small smile. “Exactly.” He pauses, and then looks at Keith. “It wasn’t totally obvious I was lying, was it?”

“No,” Keith tells him honestly. “I mean, we barely had to talk about us dating, so, you know. That’s a plus. Clearly she wasn’t interested in hearing about it.” 

Keith glances side-long over towards the Watsons again and finds her eyes looking back towards Shiro. It’s that reason alone that fuels Keith to stand up on the tips of his toes and press a kiss to Shiro’s temple. 

Shiro sputters. “Keith—”

“You did well,” Keith tells him, more calmly than he feels. Currently, his heart is threatening to gallop away without him. He swallows and drags his hand along Shiro’s back, over shoulder and neck and shoulder again, his fingertips trailing in a possessive trail. He lets his hand linger. “Really, Shiro. It’s going to be okay. You got the hard part out of the way.”

“No backing down now,” Shiro agrees. “Mrs. Watson’s a gossip.”

“Of course she is,” Keith agrees. 

“But, I mean…” Shiro looks guilty for having said it. “She’s nice, too. She means well. I mean, she’s nice enough. Adam’s family is nice, in general. All of them. Ashleigh especially.” 

“Sure,” Keith answers, not really needing a history lesson on how great Adam or his family are. 

Shiro touches at the side of his head, his fingertips splaying over where Keith kissed him a moment before. 

Keith bites his lip. “Was that okay?”

“Definitely,” Shiro whispers, and then clears his throat. “I mean, it’s fine. Good thinking.” 

“Right,” Keith says, blushing. “So… what’s next? Other members of Adam’s family you need to greet? Anybody else’s hearts you need me to stomp on? Want to shove your cool new boyfriend in stupid Adam’s face yet or what?”

He’s proud of himself for not blushing outright at referring to himself as such. He twists around, as if Adam’s family are waiting in the wings to swoop in now that Keith’s invited them. Nobody stands out to him as recognizable, at least, and after a moment he turns back to look at Shiro. 

Shiro gives him an unreadable look and, once Keith looks at him, attempts a small, weak laugh. 

“What is it?” Keith asks, a pit opening up in his stomach. 

“I guess I… never realized you didn’t like Adam,” Shiro says, voice tiny. 

Keith stares at Shiro in horror, seeing that look on his face, hearing his voice like that. He shakes his head. “I don’t hate Adam,” he says and can see that Shiro doesn’t believe him. He presses, “Shiro, I don’t hate Adam. But he hurt you.” 

Shiro almost flinches. Instead, he closes his eyes and looks down at the table rather than at Keith. His shoulders tense. 

Keith’s never been one to back down, always been impulsive, which is why he doesn’t let himself think about the potential line he’s crossing by entering this conversation. 

“Look,” Keith says, nervously running his fingers through his hair, pushing back his bangs from his forehead only for them to fall back into place as soon as he starts scrubbing at the back of his head. “I’m… You’re my best friend and of course I’m going to take your side no matter what. To me, it doesn’t matter how the breakup went. I’m Team Shiro. Adam’s on my shit list. That’s just the way things are. That doesn’t mean I hate him as a person… or that I hated him when you two were dating.” 

Shiro doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and he’s silent for long enough that Keith really begins to think he’s fucked up majorly. He’s not about to take the words back, they’re the truth after all, but he hesitates on whether he should reach out and touch Shiro. 

Shiro prevents him from having a major crisis in a public space by lifting his head to look at Keith again. Shiro’s smile is soft, warming his eyes. He says, voice quiet and uncertain, “Thanks, Keith.” 

“But I mean, if it makes you uncomfortable or something, just tell me to back off and I won’t say anything. Not a word.” He looks up at Shiro, frowning. “You’re too nice to be mean about Adam so I’m doing it for you. But tell me to stop and I will.” 

“Well,” Shiro says after a pause. “I’d feel bad if I took away your favorite pastime of bagging on people. Besides, it’s c—” Shiro pauses again, smile flinching across his face for a moment before he resumes, “It’s… sweet. It’s really sweet, Keith. I’m glad you’re looking out for me.” 

Something inside of Keith feels like it short-circuited somewhere around the aborted _c—_

“Um,” he says, quietly. 

Shiro looks around. “But to actually answer your question: I see Adam’s grandma… I should probably say hi to her, too.” 

“Okay, I’ll go get us more drinks and you go talk to Adam’s stupid old grandma.” 

“Keith,” Shiro scolds, but he’s also laughing. 

“Fine, go talk to Adam’s probably perfectly nice old grandma. All his family is perfectly nice, yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time.”

“Well, actually,” Shiro says, still laughing, “I think his grandma never liked me.”

“Then she definitely has horrible taste,” Keith snorts. “I’ll get the drinks and swoop in to save you, all Prince Charming style. Promise.” 

“Okay,” Shiro says quietly, smiling. 

Keith moves over towards the bar again after a decisive nod, his face bright red. Cute. Shiro had been about to say he was cute. 

_Cute._

 

-

 

Later, they’re making it back to the hotel room after the necessary amount of schmoozing. Keith thinks he probably drank a little too much because he feels dizzy as they make their way back to their room. But it might also be because about halfway through the night, Shiro wrapped his arm loosely around Keith’s waist, his hand resting at his hip, and didn’t let go the entire time. He’s not sure. Also, Shiro’s cologne is nice. He’s been smelling it all night. 

“Who’s smart idea is it to have your guests get blasted the night before your wedding?” Keith mutters into Shiro’s shoulder as they pat themselves down to find their key. The key Shiro shoved into his pocket earlier is still there, at least, and Keith fishes it out and with some maneuvering manages to wave it in front of the door handle enough to get it open. 

Shiro laughs, a little breathier than usual. He’s probably had too much to drink, too. They’re not drunk, just maybe a little tipsy. Shiro’s cheeks are a cute, pleasant red as he smiles down at Keith. 

They make their way into the room and Keith kicks off his shoes as Shiro launches himself dramatically onto the bed, twisting mid-air to land on his back and stare up at the ceiling with a goofy smile. 

“I called a lot of people tonight my boyfriend,” he says.

Keith giggles. “You mean, you told a lot of people _I’m_ your boyfriend.”

“Oh, yeah,” Shiro says, and laughs. He tries to kick off his shoes but also doesn’t try to untie them first. Keith makes his way over and grabs at Shiro’s ankle to still his squirming. He plucks at the shoelaces and gets the shoes off for him. 

Shiro wriggles his toes inside his socks and laughs when Keith wrinkles his nose. 

“This is Keith, my boyfriend,” Shiro tells the ceiling. 

Keith snorts out a helpless laugh, but hates he isn’t quite drunk enough where hearing that doesn’t send his stomach flip-flopping away from his body. He crawls up onto the bed and flops onto his stomach beside Shiro. He lets himself sink into the luxurious soft of the fancy blanket and turns his head to look at Shiro.

Shiro’s already looking at him, smiling. “… It went alright, right? Tonight.” 

“Yeah,” Keith says, quietly. He smiles at Shiro. “I told you it’d be alright. Maybe you’re a better liar than you thought, Shiro.”

Shiro sobers a little, looking at Keith. His face turns pinker. Probably from the alcohol, Keith thinks.

“I always thought… I was really obvious. When I was hiding something. Or not saying something.” He admits it quietly, looking at Keith closely, gauging his reaction. 

Keith merely lifts his eyebrows. “If you’ve ever lied to me, I’ve never noticed.” 

Shiro flounders a little, looking guilty. “I’ve never lied to you, Keith. I mean. I haven’t ever…” 

“It’s okay, Shiro,” Keith says with a shrug. “You’re a truthful guy. But nobody tells the truth _always_.”

He thinks of himself, the big, burning _I’m in love with you_ secret he’s never even breathed in Shiro’s direction. And never, ever will, either. Not if it ruins their friendship. This weekend is already a test to how many stupid decisions his brain can take him on. 

Shiro scrubs a hand through his hair, frowning. His prosthetic gives a low beep and Shiro gives it a vaguely confused look. 

Keith hauls himself upright with a groan and reaches for Shiro. “Come on. You need to charge it.” 

“Oh,” Shiro says, and blinks a little until his vision clears. He sits up with a groan and starts unbuttoning his shirt. Keith rolls off the bed and fishes around Shiro’s suitcase until he finds his charging port.

“Which side of the bed do you want tonight?” Keith asks, still very purposefully not thinking about the inevitable time when he’ll be sharing a bed with Shiro and instead focusing on getting him situated for the night. 

“Either’s fine,” Shiro says with a shrug. 

Keith always likes the right side of the bed so he heads to the left for Shiro, plugging in the charging port for his arm and waiting until Shiro shrugs out of his button-down and detaches his prosthetic from his arm. The prosthetic gives a little whirl as it powers down. Shiro hands it to him and Keith gets it all hooked up, waiting until he sees the confirming green light blink to life as the arm starts charging. 

He turns back towards Shiro as he scratches absently at the part of his bicep now exposed with the prosthetic gone. He’s in an undershirt. It stretches over his chest. Keith tries very, very hard not to stare. 

“I should, uh, shower,” Keith decides after averting his eyes. He gets to his feet and makes his way over to his bag, digging around. 

“Sure,” Shiro says, pleasant and agreeable. He rolls a bit on the bed so he’s closer to the edge, watching Keith as he works. 

Keith’s grabbing what he needs for the shower but it’s with a slow sinking of dread that he thinks about what he usually does after a shower, when getting ready for bed. Or, rather, what very little he wears. He stares at his bag for a long, long moment, as if doing so will summon up several thousand layers for him to drape himself in so he can avoid the awkward conversation he knows he’s going to have to have.

Shiro watches him the entire time, heavy-lidded and sleepy, looking comfortable and warm just flopped on the bed, curled on his side, his arm tucked under him as he watches Keith. He gives an inquisitive hum when Keith stops digging around his bag but also doesn’t move. 

“Uh,” Keith says eloquently. “Sorry, you… don’t happen to have an extra pair of pajamas or something, do you?” 

“Did you forget to pack yours?” Shiro asks, frowning. He sits up and moves to the edge of the bed and reaches for his suitcase beside Keith’s. He starts digging in his bag, although it seems a more fruitless gesture than anything else— Shiro is organized; he’d know if he had an extra pair of sweatpants or not. 

“I, uh, yeah. I don’t usually wear much to bed,” Keith says and Shiro freezes, hand in his suitcase. 

He looks up at Keith and bites his lip and _that’s_ distracting. He’s silent for a long enough moment that Keith starts to feel a little cornered. 

“It’s fine,” Keith says weakly, seeking to reassure, “I can just— you know, sleep in my jeans or something. They’re comfortable since they’re so old, you know, kinda soft.” 

“Keith,” Shiro says and then he laughs a moment later, cheeks pink. “It’s okay. You can sleep in your underwear. I promise I’m not going to be scandalized.” 

Yes, but what about him, Keith thinks miserably— but nods his head. “Uh, right.”

He grabs his bag of supplies for the shower, feeling mechanical as he gets to his feet. He flushes as he heads to the bathroom to take his shower. Maybe he’ll drown. 

No such luck. Although, thankfully, the rest of the night goes alright. Keith takes a shower and then Shiro makes his way to prepare for bed, too. Keith spends the entire time Shiro’s in the shower staring at his phone and decidedly _not_ thinking about Shiro naked and wet in the next room. 

Keith’s sprawled out, warm and sleepy, wearing his shirt and his underwear as a makeshift pajama set when the water shuts off. A few minutes later, a cloud of steam emerges, preceding Shiro’s arrival in a towel. 

Keith drops his phone on his face when he looks up and sees this. 

“Forgot my clothes out here,” Shiro explains with a laugh, or something along those lines. Keith isn’t sure because his eyes are zeroed in on the wide expanse of Shiro’s bare chest, slick from the shower and pleasantly toned because the guy is a goddamn personal trainer for a living. 

Keith says nothing, having become a stupid mute ghost. He watches Shiro kneel down in his towel, little droplets of water falling off the tips of his hair and the slope of his nose. He digs around his bag for his clothes. He straightens up, holding the bundle of his pajamas in the crook of his arm. 

Keith’s eyes are on Shiro’s towel, slipping lower over his hips. Shiro doesn’t have his other arm to hold it up. It might fall.

Feeling his entire face turn red, Keith flips onto his stomach and shoves his face into the pillow. He hears Shiro shifting around behind him, changing now that Keith isn’t looking at him. The temptation to look over his shoulder is so intense that Keith nearly dies right there, suffocating on his pillow. 

“Um, Keith?” 

Keith steadies himself, takes a deep breath, and then looks over his shoulder when Shiro calls to him. He’s both relieved and devastated to see Shiro with his sweats on. But he’s holding his shirt.

He gives Keith an apologetic smile with just an edge of a tease to it. “Mind giving me a hand?” 

“Har har,” Keith says, already crawling over the bed to get to him. He takes the shirt Shiro offers to him and with his help, gets it on over his head and both arms through. 

“Thanks,” Shiro says when he emerges from the hole in the shirt. “Easier than putting the arm back on only to take it off again.” 

“I don’t mind,” Keith says, and means it even though he also feels like his face is about to explode from blushing. 

“Ready to sleep?” Shiro asks, flopping down onto the bed beside Keith. Keith watches in a daze as Shiro squirms to get comfortable, wriggling his way under the blankets. He’s red from the shower, cheeks sweetly pink as he smiles up at Keith. 

“… Yeah,” Keith decides and lies down beside him, over the covers. He bites his lip. “You sure it’s okay? I can take the floor if you want to stretch out.”

“Keith, it’s a big bed,” Shiro tells him with a shake of his head. “I won’t be able to sleep if I know you’re on the floor.”

“Okay,” Keith says, wondering if he can just wait until Shiro falls asleep and then sleep on the floor anyway. The mattress is impossibly soft and he’s used to something a little firmer, and less luxurious. 

He turns away from Shiro to plug in his phone, if only to give him something to do. He takes a steadying breath and then turns back towards Shiro. 

Shiro clicks off the lights. The moon pierces through the gauzy slits of the curtains. They left the balcony door cracked open enough to let the cooler night air in and the curtains curl around in the breeze. 

The sliver of moonlight slices across the floor and their bed. Hits over Shiro’s face. 

Keith looks at him. Shiro looks back. 

“Well,” Keith says, feeling awkward. “Night, Shiro.”

“Goodnight, Keith,” Shiro says gently and Keith watches as he closes his eyes, settling onto his side. 

Shiro’s one of those obnoxious people who can fall asleep quickly. He’s a light sleeper, Keith knows— has woken him up enough times from the nights he’s crashed on Keith’s couch— but also falls asleep almost instantly when he’s feeling tired enough.

Keith stares at him.

It takes a while for him to fall asleep. 

 

-

 

Keith can’t sleep. It’s too warm in the room and he keeps tossing and turning. His shirt twists around his torso in a way that feels almost suffocating. If he were alone, Keith would just rip his shirt off and wriggle out of his underwear. But he’s not alone. And that’s the whole problem.

He keeps looking back over towards Shiro, who slumbers on. Keith’s fingers itch, pathetically, to reach out and touch him.

Keith flips over onto his other side so he isn’t looking at Shiro. He stays like that for a long time, trying to fall asleep. But his heart’s stampeding away in his chest. 

This is so stupid. He’s sharing a bed with Shiro. It’s a big bed. It’s not like it’s a big deal. He should—

He must wriggle enough on the bed that he wakes Shiro up because he feels Shiro shift behind him and groan. _That_ is a sinful sound, even if it’s hardly a sexy type of groan and more of a _what the fuck time is it_ sort of groan. Regardless, Keith takes a steadying breath before twisting around in the sheets again to face Shiro.

“Keith?” Shiro murmurs, voice thick and husky with sleep. Speaking of other sinful noises leaving Shiro in the middle of the night while Keith’s stuck in a bed with him. Shiro with a husky voice is quite possibly the ultimate death for him.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Mmm,” Shiro hums, pressing his face into the pillow for a moment before turning more fully with a long sigh to peek his eyes open and squint at Keith. “It’s okay,” he whispers, voice sleep-warm and a little slurry at the edges. “I was kind of awake anyway.”

“That’s a lie,” Keith says, “You don’t have to make me feel better.”

Shiro’s mouth quirks up into a little smile. “Can’t get anything past you, can I?” 

“Guess not,” Keith says. “Go back to sleep, Shiro.”

“What’s wrong?” Shiro asks instead of listening. 

“It’s just… really warm. I guess.” 

“Ah,” Shiro sighs, and then sleepily shoves at the covers until the blanket slips off them both and they’re left with just the sheets over them. “Guess you’re used to less layers on, huh?” 

Keith nods, blushing. “Won’t you get cold, though?” 

“I run hot,” Shiro murmurs sleepily, blinking his eyes open a little to peer at Keith again, eyes sweeping over him as Keith squirms and adjusts beneath the sheets, trying to get comfortable again. “Keith, you can take your shirt off. It’s okay.”

Keith pauses, his heart thumping. But he’s not about to question it, either, since he is feeling suffocated and a little less than comfortable like this. He sits up quickly and rips his shirt off over his head, tossing it onto the hotel floor. 

He glances at Shiro to find Shiro watching him. He glances away with a breath and shifts beneath the blankets, lying on his back. 

Keith lies back down, stretching out. It’s a bit better without his shirt on. He can handle the underwear, isn’t about to take those off for anything. He looks at Shiro, who’s soft in the dim of the night. 

“Better?” Shiro asks, his voice soft and breathy. 

“Yeah,” Keith answers. “Thanks.” 

They lie there in silence. Shiro closes his eyes and Keith almost thinks he’s fallen asleep again. His breathing isn’t right, though. Keith lies there, tries closing his eyes but doesn’t feel sleepy. He opens them again.

Shiro shifts a little— closer towards Keith. Keith watches him do this, distantly, as if watching two different people in a bed together, something he isn’t a part of.

“I’m worried about tomorrow,” Shiro admits, opening his eyes and looking at Keith. His eyes are bright and expressive, even in the dark. Keith’s heart thuds. Shiro sighs out, biting his lip. “About seeing Adam. What he’ll say.”

“Cause of this?” Keith asks, uncertain. 

Shiro shakes his head. “Just… seeing him. It… could have ended a lot worse. But it could have ended better. It— wasn’t great. And we haven’t really talked since.” 

“Right,” Keith says, mouth dry. 

“I don’t want to make it awkward for him. It _is_ his sister’s wedding, after all,” he whispers. His fingers twitch where they’re twisted up in the pillow he’s resting against. He gives Keith a long look, eyebrows slanting into something worried and uncertain. “They’re a good family, Keith. I must have hurt them with what I did and—”

“Hey,” Keith whispers, and doesn’t think before reaching out and touching Shiro’s hand, covering it with his. “You had to do what was right for you. Maybe they were upset, but it’d have been worse if you’d stayed in a relationship you didn’t want anymore.”

“I feel selfish for being here, for bringing us both here,” Shiro admits. His eyelids dip a little, his eyelashes splayed over his cheeks. Up close, Keith can see each one. “I shouldn’t have come here.” 

“You’re here because Ashleigh wanted you to be here,” Keith says. He squeezes Shiro’s hand. “You’re not selfish, Shiro. You’re kind. You’re the kindest person I know.”

Shiro sucks in a sharp breath and looks like he wants to protest. His eyebrows pinch closer together. He doesn’t verbalize a protest, though, swallowing back whatever it is that he was about to say. Keith watches him for a moment, waiting to see if he’ll say anything. But he doesn’t. 

Keith’s fingertips touch at Shiro’s knuckles, brushes down over the lines at the back of his hand, his wrist. Shiro’s eyes flicker and move, watching that movement instead. 

“Keith, I…” Shiro begins and trails off. He sounds sleepy, if upset. 

Keith squeezes his hand again, gently. “It’s okay, Shiro. We can always bail tomorrow if it’s too much. Go to the beach or something.” 

Shiro’s smile is faint, but warm. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Keith says without hesitation. “Say the word and I’ll pull you away from it all. You can blame it all on me.” 

Shiro turns his hand in Keith’s hold so he can squeeze it gently. 

“I’m glad you’re here, Keith,” he says, voice quiet and soft. “It’d be much more difficult to be here otherwise.”

“I’m here,” Keith assures him and squeezes his hand back. “I’m here for you, Shiro.” 

 

-

 

They must fall asleep, Keith thinks. He wakes up just before dawn still holding Shiro’s hand but further into his space, cuddled up to him. Shiro’s head is tipped forward, resting in the valley of his throat, breath warm against his neck. 

Keith thinks, half-asleep, that he should really move back before Shiro wakes up. Five more minutes, he decides, but then falls back asleep.

 

-

 

When he does wake up properly, the first thing he does is snap his hand out and feel around for Shiro. Realizing, belatedly, that if Shiro _were_ in the bed, he’d be groping his chest by now, he snatches his hand back guiltily and blinks his eyes open.

When he looks around, it’s only to see Shiro doing pushups on the floor of the hotel, moving methodically and counting under his breath.

Keith makes an absurd sound.

Shiro pauses mid-count and looks up. He smiles. “Hey, Keith! Good morning.”

“Morning,” Keith says stupidly as Shiro resumes his push-ups. Keith wants to at once continue staring and also throw himself out a window. 

“Ah,” Shiro says, face flushed, undoubtedly from the workout, “We still have a little time before the wedding starts. We have the pre-wedding breakfast to go to, if you want.”

“I,” Keith says, with deep feeling, “will definitely need coffee.”

He watches the shift and flex of Shiro’s arms. His back. The bow of his head as he does the last few reps with deeper precision. Keith can’t look away. His face is definitely red. 

“Sure,” Shiro says, once he’s finished with the deep dips that are slaughtering Keith one by one. “I could go for coffee.”

“Uh huh,” Keith says, eyes still on Shiro’s shoulders. 

Shiro finishes his count and sinks to his knees, sitting up and smiling pleasantly at Keith. Keith makes a point of staring at his face and not at the rest of him as he stretches his shoulders out. 

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Shiro asks.

“No,” Keith says, and his voice sounds haunted and hollow as Shiro wipes his brow with his shirt, exposing his abs, and then stands. He heads to the hotel’s closet, where he’d hung up his and Keith’s suits the night before, because Shiro is intelligent and thinks ahead, unlike Keith who’s still staring at the place where Shiro was doing pushups only a few moments before. 

Shiro’s setting out their clothes for the day and Keith watches him for a long moment. Shiro looks rested enough, at least, a little less small and scared as he had last night in bed. Keith almost wonders if he dreamed it.

“Hey, Shiro?” Keith asks.

“Yeah?” Shiro asks, looking up to smile at Keith. 

“… You’re still okay about today?” Keith answers. “Remember what I said?” 

Shiro’s smile turns gentler and he nods. “I remember. I say the word and we run away together.” 

Keith definitely blushes at that phrasing and manages a small laugh. “Yeah, exactly. Don’t forget. Our code word is ‘Milkshake.’” 

Shiro snorts. “Why milkshake?” 

“Because we’ll run away together, get milkshakes, and then dick around on the beach,” Keith decides. “We’ll watch the dogs chase the seagulls.” 

Shiro laughs. “Don’t tempt me. That sounds better than this wedding.” 

Keith shrugs. “It’s a back-up plan. All else fails, we can do that after the wedding, too.” 

“Sounds perfect, Keith. Now, get dressed. I want coffee.” 

They dress with their backs to each other. Keith feels supremely embarrassed to be wearing a suit, since he rarely does, and it maybe isn’t the best fitting. It hangs a little loose at the waist but tight in the shoulders— he’s grown a little since the last time he had to wear this. He should have maybe ironed his shirt better. It could be a lot worse, he figures. He doesn’t care enough to pull out the hotel-provided ironing board and iron. Especially not before coffee. 

He steels himself, mentally preparing. But still, once he turns around and sees Shiro in his suit, he’s really, fundamentally ill-prepared for seeing him in a suit. Shiro’s suit fits him perfectly, hugging over him in all the right places. He looks obscenely good in a suit, the way it tucks over his shoulders, cinches his waist, hugs his hips. Keith hates it. He loves it. Keith joked yesterday about men swooning, but honestly Keith would be shocked if Shiro didn’t turn at least a few hundred heads once they’ve made their way to the wedding. 

Shiro’s smiling at him, his eyes warm and pleased as he sweeps over Keith in a way that feels far too blatant to be anything besides mild curiosity. Shiro’s never really seen Keith in a suit, he figures. He can’t recall a time, at least, that Shiro would have seen him in a suit. He wore this last at graduation, but he’d been wearing his robes then, too, so that doesn’t quite count. He thinks he tucked in a button-down shirt into his pants once, maybe. 

Shiro’s eyes drag over him and every place they touch, Keith’s sure he’s about to burst into flames. God. 

“You look nice,” Keith squeaks out.

“You too,” Shiro says, cheeks pink. “Ready?”

They head down to the hotel lobby together. This time, Shiro’s the one to reach out and take his hand, well before the elevator doors close on their floor. They hold hands the entire ride down, even though nobody’s in the elevator with them. 

There are people milling around the lobby and restaurant, and he can see last minute preparations starting for the wedding itself, employees running around outside. Keith observes this all but he’s also mostly focused on the feel of Shiro’s hand in his, the way he smiles down at Keith. That, and the smell of coffee wafting from the long table set up with breakfast foods for the guests to eat. 

“Are we going to have to pay for this, too?” Keith mutters, pouring himself a cup of dark roast. 

Shiro laughs beside him. “Don’t be cranky.” 

Keith pours Shiro a cup, too, because he is a sweet and generous friend and _not_ going to sniff disdainfully at being called cranky. They find a table to sit at while Keith proceeds to utterly demolish his coffee. 

They’re on task to enjoy a pleasant morning when it happens. 

Keith sees it happen not because he sees Adam enter, but because he sees it on Shiro’s face when it happens. He’s smiling at Keith, sipping his coffee. And then he glances up and his expression freezes, slips into something withdrawn and uncertain. 

Keith isn’t surprised when Shiro says, quietly, “Adam.”

He stands as Keith twists around and spots Adam on the opposite end of the room. He sees the moment Adam sees Shiro. His expression freezes, too. There’s no denying they’ve seen each other. 

Keith downs the last of his coffee. Shiro’s hand is on the table. He isn’t sure if he should reach out and grab it, touch Shiro in any way. His heart is thundering, seized by a certain fight or flight response and he doesn’t know which one to do. Fight. He always fights. But this— it’s Shiro. 

Adam approaches. He doesn’t even seem to have noticed Keith, his eyes on Shiro. 

“Takashi,” Adam greets as he approaches. 

“Hi, Adam,” Shiro says, and his voice is— gentle. Not anything near the way Keith remembers Shiro talking to Adam, back when they were together, but not completely cold, either. But that’s just how Shiro is, Keith thinks. He could never be completely cold to someone he broke up with, no matter how messy.

There’s a long, awkward pause. Keith can see the way Shiro starts to flounder, uncertain. 

“Ashleigh said you’d be coming,” Adam says, and it’s not harsh but maybe more wondering than anything else. “I didn’t see you last night, though. I thought maybe you’d decided not to.” 

“Keith and I decided to call it an early night,” Shiro says and nods down towards where Keith’s still sitting. “You remember Keith.” 

Adam turns and regards Keith, looking a little perplexed to see him sitting there. 

Keith sips his cup before remembering there’s no coffee left inside it. He completes the motion as if he is drinking something, if only to look calmer than he is and not like an idiot who has no idea what he’s doing. 

“Hey,” he says, when he sets his empty cup down. 

“Keith,” Adam says, more observing than anything. “Hello.” 

He still looks confused as to why he’s here. Shiro fumbles out a quiet, “Keith’s—”

“I’m Shiro’s plus-one,” Keith says, confident as he tips his chin up. “You know, his date?” 

It’s maybe a little aggressive, judging from the way Shiro snaps his mouth shut and blushes. Adam’s eyebrows fling up towards his hairline. Keith sprawls back, draping one arm over the back of his chair, the very picture of cool and unconcerned. Yeah, his new boyfriend’s talking to his ex, but does he care? No. He hopes he exudes the energy of someone fully satisfied and confident in his partner. He hopes Adam’s squirming. 

“Really,” Adam says and turns to look at Shiro. There’s something buoyed in the tone of that one word, something expressed that Keith doesn’t understand, a language between only Shiro and Adam. 

Shiro’s gone pink in the face again. He says, quiet, his voice soft, “Keith’s my boyfriend.” 

Keith tips his empty cup towards Adam in a universal _cheers!_ move. He’s being a dick and he doesn’t care. Shiro can scold him after Adam leaves if he really wants. 

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” Adam says. He doesn’t sound angry necessarily, more taken aback than anything else. Keith’s almost disappointed. He’d love an excuse to punch Adam out, no matter how irrational the desire. Adam hurt Shiro once. That’s enough of a reason to have him on a perpetual shit list. Adam levels Keith with a stare, though, and says, “You always did have a crush on Takashi.” 

Keith feels alarm bells flaring to life in his head but he doesn’t dare let it show on his face. He’s used to this— staring into the face of people who think Keith should be more respectful, only to be met by Keith’s impassive face. He’s perfected it over years of schooling. Good to know it’s still useful even after he’s graduated. 

He turns his chin up, even if inwardly he can’t bear to look at Shiro, to see Shiro’s reaction to the statement. God. He can’t _deny_ it, not if he’s really Shiro’s boyfriend. Hell, Shiro would _know_ if they were dating for real because Keith would have told him. But he doesn’t want to see Shiro’s face, doesn’t want to know what Shiro thinks of Keith having a stupid crush on his best friend.

“Shiro and I have always been close,” Keith says instead, neither denial or acceptance. He lets himself sound as smug and petulant as he can manage when just sitting there needing a second cup of coffee. 

“‘Shiro’?” Adam parrots. He doesn’t rise to Keith’s bait, but his tone feels less neutral than before.

And— shit, he should have thought of that. Everyone calls Shiro ‘Shiro.’ Only Adam (and his family) calls him Takashi. 

Keith sniffs, thinking quickly. “Yeah, _Shiro._ He’s always been just Shiro to me… Takashi’s way too stuffy.” He lets his lip curl. “Doesn’t suit him.” 

That’s the truth, at least, which is why he’s able to make his words biting as he stares up at Adam. He’s not backing down. Maybe if he’d thought about it, he’d have pulled out _Takashi_ for this weekend trip. But it would have felt weird saying it, unnatural. At least like this, just treating Shiro like he’s always treated him, helps it feel more natural. Fake dating Shiro is a lot like just being friends with Shiro. That’s easier— makes it more believable. Keith fumbling his way over Shiro’s real name would have just left him feeling awkward. 

“Still just as charming as ever, I see,” Adam says, and he finally, finally sounds frustrated— good to know there can be a break in his demeanor. 

“Yeah, well,” Keith begins. “I—”

But Shiro cuts them both off with a swift, harsh, “ _Keith. Adam._ ” 

Keith snaps his eyes back to Shiro. Shiro doesn’t look angry, just vaguely mortified. Keith feels contrite, but not enough to apologize or back down from his smug stance with Adam. Shiro’s wringing his hands, looking between the two of them. When he sees them both looking at him, he sucks in a sharp breath and straightens his shoulders. 

Suddenly, he looks far more commanding, and infinitely disappointed in them both. It’s enough to make Keith wilt. Just a little. 

“Adam, it’s good to see you,” Shiro says, although his voice sounds like that’s anything but the truth. “Sorry. Keith and I just woke up, so we still need to get some coffee in us.”

“Of course,” Adam says, not remarking on the weak excuse for Keith being an ass. 

Keith doesn’t care. He sniffs. “ _So_ good to see you, Adam.”

Shiro gives him an exasperated look, and it’s almost enough to make him feel guilty. Almost. 

Adam is silent for a long moment, looking down at Keith. Then he turns his attention back towards Shiro. Shiro meets his eyes, something unreadable in his expression. Keith wonders how much time has to pass before it’s not possible to silently communicate with an ex anymore. 

Regardless, after a moment, Adam breathes out, his expression steeling. 

“… I’m glad you got what you wanted, Takashi,” Adam says, and there’s a weight to the words there that Keith can’t quite center on. It makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, though.

Shiro’s expression flickers for a moment. His voice is quiet, tentative, when he says, “You know it wasn’t like that.” 

“I know,” Adam says, and Keith isn’t sure if he believes him or not. “I’ll see you later.”

Adam doesn’t bother saying bye to Keith. He starts walking away. 

“Bye, Adam, so nice to see you,” Keith calls, just to be a dick, and instantly regrets it when Shiro looks at him with a wounded look. With Adam’s back to him, Shiro’s entire expression splinters. 

He sits down heavily in his seat across from Keith, his hand lifting to press to his face. He groans, leaning forward, and doesn’t look at Keith. 

“Shiro,” Keith calls, quiet. With Adam out of earshot, Keith doesn’t mind being apologetic. 

He touches Shiro’s hand, half expecting him to snap it back. He doesn’t, and instead seems to sink forward a little. It’s true concern and not performance that motivates Keith to scoot his chair closer to Shiro, reaching out to cup his face, fingers splayed over his cheeks. He’s never touched him like this before, but it strikes him as necessary. 

“I’m sorry,” Keith says, “I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s fine,” Shiro says, although he looks miserable up close. “That was going to be a disaster no matter what you did. I should have— obviously it’s no good to talk to him about a boyfriend if it’s _you._ ”

Keith’s mouth twists up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Not the way it sounds, I promise,” Shiro says, voice softer. He touches Keith’s wrist in apology, fingers curling lightly and holding. He blinks his eyes open and looks at Keith. There’s something fragile in his look as he meets Keith’s eyes. Something he isn’t saying. 

“Milkshake?” Keith guesses.

Shiro doesn’t even crack a smile. He sighs and shakes his head, leaning briefly into one of Keith’s hands. His eyes fall shut and he just— rests there. Keith doesn’t dare move his hand. 

Shiro sighs, “No. I’m okay. I just need a moment.” 

“Okay,” Keith says. 

Shiro licks his lips. “Keith, you were really…”

“An asshole?” Keith finishes when Shiro trails off. “I know. I don’t— I mean, I know why. But, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry, Shiro.” 

“It wasn’t you,” Shiro reassures him. He peers at Keith, quiet for a moment. Then he asks, tentatively, “Are you like that a lot when you date someone? All territorial.” 

“Um,” Keith says, eloquently, because he can’t think of a way to make _only if it’s you_ and _nothing about that was acting_ sound like a friendship thing. So, he settles on, “I guess so?” 

“… It’s very romantic,” Shiro says, shy. 

Keith goes mute, biting his tongue as he nods. He gulps down a breath. 

“At least that’s over,” Shiro sighs. Keith nods, his thumbs brushing over Shiro’s cheekbones for lack of anything else to do, seeking to comfort him.

“Are you okay?” he asks, soft. He’s leaned in closer to Shiro. Their foreheads are nearly pressed together. They’re probably making a scene but he also doesn’t care. Let people look. Fuck all of them— nobody else matters if Shiro is upset. 

Shiro squeezes his wrist, gently. “I’m okay, Keith.” 

He draws away from Keith and Keith lets him. He regrets drawing back, regrets being separated from Shiro, but lets his hands fall away all the same. He smiles at Shiro, and feels some tension ease from his body when Shiro smiles back. 

“Maybe you should have brought someone else, after all?” Keith asks, and hates how small his voice sounds. “Like Lance.”

Shiro snorts. “Adam knows about Lance and Allura, Keith.” 

“Then…” Keith shrugs. “Hunk? Or maybe Matt?”

Shiro actually shudders. “ _God._ Matt would have been the worst possible choice. He’d take this way too far, going around calling me Snookums or something. And making stupid kissy faces the whole day.” 

Shiro lets out a weak laugh and Keith tries to mimic him, his heart hammering. God. Right. That’s what friends do. They mess around with each other. Keith’s taking this way too seriously. He isn’t doing it well enough. He’s being too _obvious._

Keith fumbles internally for a moment, uncertain, as Shiro’s quiet laughter fades and they sit there in a long silence. 

“You’re not mad at me?” Keith asks, and feels like a child asking it. 

Shiro shakes his head. He blushes. “I, um… No. No, you’re fine, Keith. It’s okay.” He clears his throat, looking around. “I’ll get us more coffee, okay?”

He seizes Keith’s cup and his own before Keith can protest and hurries back over towards the food. Keith watches him go.

 

-

 

They finish up their coffee and have breakfast. By the time they finish, they have a little time before the wedding. Shiro suggests they find seats and together, holding hands, they make their way out into the main garden. 

In daytime, the gardens are just as beautiful as they looked at night from the balcony. The fairy lights Keith saw the night before have each been covered with little paper lanterns. They don’t cast light, what with the sun shining bright, but they add a nice decoration, laced between tree branches and the archway full of roses. Keith looks around, taking in the decorations. Definitely overly extravagant. There are little candles at the end of each row of chairs. White lace draped over the aisle and the altar. This entire thing feels too extravagant, honestly— the amount of people alone and renting out an entire hotel for a weekend gives Keith hives just thinking about the cost. 

Shiro leads them down the aisle as they scoot past other guests looking to get a head start on good seating. Shiro heads towards the end of a row of little white chairs, towards the back. Not a great set of seats, really. 

“Leave the good seats for closer friends and family, I think,” Shiro says as explanation as they’re seated. They’re underneath a large tree that blocks the sun from hitting them directly in the eyes, which is nice, at least. 

“Or easy escape,” Keith teases, elbowing him. “Going to drop a ‘milkshake’ on me in the middle of the vows?” 

Shiro snorts out a small laugh, his mouth twisting up into a tiny smile. It’s unbearably cute. 

“I think I’ll make it through,” Shiro tells him, nudging him back. His smile is warm, touching his eyes. He looks so handsome in the sunlight. Keith knows his expression is maybe just a little bit moony. 

They sit and bask in the sun as the rest of the guests make their way to the seats. There’s over a hundred people here from Keith’s estimates. Once again he finds it way too extravagant. But the almost-noon sun is making him feel sleepy and warm. He leans his head on Shiro’s shoulder, sighing out, relaxing as he waits for everything to start. 

Shiro turns his head a little and rests his cheek on the top of Keith’s head, leaning against him. They don’t say anything, just basking in the sun and in one another’s presence. It’s nice. Keith could stay like this forever. The wedding’s supposed to start at noon but it seems things are running behind. Keith finds that he doesn’t really mind, the warmth of Shiro’s breath brushing through the little flyaways of his hair. For a moment, he can pretend this isn’t all for show. 

After what feels like half an hour, the wedding’s about to start. At least, Keith assumes so, since all the seats around them are filled up and the music’s changing. He doesn’t lift his head from Shiro’s shoulder, content to stay there. Shiro doesn’t shrug him off or shift at all, which tells Keith it’s okay to stay like this. He could fall asleep, he thinks. The twinkling of the music is putting him to sleep. 

The procession begins— the wedding party travels down the aisle, first the flower girl tossing flowers in the air, then the bridesmaids, lining along each side of the archway at the end of the aisle. Then, the brides arrive, walking together down the aisle, arm in arm, smiling at each other. Keith can guess the one with flowers in her hair must be Ashleigh, if only because she looks a lot like Adam. 

Keith watches them impassively, noting that they’re pretty and seem to be happy. Which is what one would expect (or at least hope) during a wedding. He stifles a yawn— he doesn’t want to actually insult anyone, it’s just the combo of the sun and his lack of sleep the night before. He feels comfortable. Shiro is a comfortable heat beside him, present and familiar. 

The man officiating must a friend of the brides, since he starts off with a joke that rouses a wave of laughter from the audience. They’re far enough back in the crowd that it’s a little difficult to hear the words even though his voice is booming. Keith watches as the brides join hands, gazing at one another. He can’t see Ashleigh that well, her back to them, but he can see her wife-to-be. Her eyes are dark and stormy, but her smile is almost blinding. She lifts a hand to tuck a piece of hair behind Ashleigh’s hair, her expression going soft and vulnerable. 

Keith nuzzles a little into Shiro’s shoulder, sighing out. The wedding party laughs at a small joke the brides whisper to each other that Keith doesn’t catch. It’s just as well. He meant what he said before— love should be something more private. Keith doesn’t need to hear the joke. That’s for them. 

The entire time, since the moment the wedding started, Shiro’s been quiet and still beside him. Finally starting to feel a crick in his neck, Keith straightens himself from his shoulder and subtly kneads into the back of his neck, making sure not to block the view of anyone sitting behind him. He might not be big into weddings, but he’s not totally rude. 

Ashleigh’s begun her vows. Keith strains to hear anything and only picks up on _you’re so important to me_ and something like _I love you so much it’s hard to breathe sometimes_. Things he’s heard couples say a million times. 

“I look at how far we’ve come,” he hears Ashleigh say, her voice getting a little squeaky as she fights back tears, voice wobbly and breathy. “And I look at you and I—”

Keith watches the breeze brush through the fairy-lights. They swirl around above the brides. It’s a nice effect, especially when rose petals flutter off the archway and fall around them. They float on the breeze, aimless and beautiful. The air is sweet with the smell of them. 

Ashleigh chokes a little around a watery laugh. “God, I’m sorry, I just—”

Her bride leans forward and cups her face, comforting. They both laugh together, teary-eyed. The crowd ripples with sympathetic, choked-up laughter, too. 

Keith glances over at Shiro and almost startles seeing how soft Shiro’s face has gotten, how his eyes look a little misty, too. 

“Shiro,” he whispers, surprised, before he can stop it. 

Shiro blinks rapidly, his smile wobbly and watery. Then he glances away from the ceremony and looks at Keith. “Sorry,” Shiro whispers, mindful not to speak so loud that he disturbs those around them, swiping at his eyes. “I just… I always get emotional at weddings. It’s…”

“It’s okay,” Keith tells him, frowning. “But, it’s not like you know the couple well.”

“I know,” Shiro answers. “I just… It’s nice to see people in love.”

He looks back up at the ceremony. Ashleigh’s full on crying now as she tries to get through her vows, the little piece of paper shaking in her hands. Her bride is crying a little, too, grinning and reaching out to squeeze her free hand. 

“It just…” Shiro whispers, and trails off as if shy.

“What?” Keith prompts, looking up at Shiro now instead of the ceremony. 

Shiro’s smile is shy, self-deprecating. “It makes me wonder if I’ll ever have something like that, you know?”

“Shiro,” Keith says, in wonder, his heart dropping down into his stomach. 

Shiro subtly wipes at his eyes again, gives a pained little laugh, dismissing himself. He turns back towards the ceremony, smiling as he watches them. He’s happy for them, Keith can tell. But now that he knows to look, he can see the pinch of Shiro’s eyes. That quiet resignation that he’s missed his chance. 

Keith glances around and sees Adam looking their way, eyes on Shiro, who’s still misty-eyed and wobbly-smiling, sitting there and thinking that it’s somehow possible for him to go through his life without love. And Keith is seized, quite suddenly, with such a bitter and dark hatred of Adam, unfounded perhaps but clearly felt— hates Adam, in this moment, for ever making Shiro doubt he could have this. 

He glares at Adam and seizes Shiro’s hand. His expression softens immediately when he looks up at Shiro, and whispers out with more ferocity than perhaps he means, “You will. Shiro, you will.” 

Shiro blinks at him, looking startled, and Keith presses closer, moves his hand so their fingers tangle together, threading so he can cling to Shiro’s hand.

“ _Shiro,_ ” he says, with deep feeling. “I promise that you will.” 

“Keith—”

“You’ll be so happy,” Keith insists, and ignores when someone behind them tries to shush them. If he weren’t holding Shiro’s hand, he’d be flipping them off. Instead, he focuses just on Shiro, staring up at him, intense and focused and _needing_ to reassure Shiro. “You’ll be so happy, you won’t know what to do with yourself. You’re _so_ important, Shiro. Someone will see that and—”

Keith chokes a little, finds himself overcome for a moment. He tries to reign himself back in, but it’s too late. He feels overly exposed. Vulnerable. He blinks a few times and then glances back up at Shiro.

Shiro’s looking at him like Keith’s just ripped the sky down around them. For him. He blinks at him, staring at him in a quiet wonder. 

And Keith watches, too, as Shiro’s expression relaxes into something open and warm and vulnerable, too, his cheeks flushed, his eyes soft. He squeezes Keith’s hand in his and doesn’t let go.

“Keith,” he whispers. 

“I promise,” Keith says again, and even if it isn’t a promise he can really give, he gives it anyway. Anything to see the way Shiro’s face goes soft. 

Shiro closes his eyes and nods. They fall quiet, then. Keith doesn’t look away from Shiro or let go of his hand, even as the ceremony continues and the people around them start clapping and cheering. 

Shiro opens his eyes and looks over at the ceremony, but Keith doesn’t look away, not even as the brides kiss and run down the aisle together. He watches Shiro the entire time, the strong line of his jaw, the press of his mouth as he smiles. His eyes. Everything. 

“Hey, Keith?” Shiro says, watching the brides as they disappear into the gardens, laughing, flowers in their hair. 

“Yeah?” Keith asks.

“I think I could really go for that milkshake now.” 

 

-

 

The wedding party’s taking their pictures after the ceremony, so there’s time to kill before the reception begins. Keith takes Shiro’s hand and tugs him through the gardens. He stared out at the gardens enough the night before to know how to navigate through it well enough and head towards the beach. It’s only half a mile walk, tops, and they stop off by a fast food place to get milkshakes on the way. 

They’re well outside anyone else’s sphere of influence, no Watsons around at all, and yet neither of them let go of the other’s hand. Their fingers stay tangled together, somehow far more intimate than the simple grasp they’d done up until now. 

Keith pays for the milkshakes, strawberry for him and chocolate for Shiro. And together, they head towards the beach. They don’t do much of anything aside from walk along the beach, enjoying their crappy milkshakes and enjoying the view of the waves crashing on the sand. There are swimmers in the water, and sunbathers on the beach. They must look absurd in their suits, but neither seems to notice or care. 

They watch the people as they pass by, and rate the dogs on a scale of one to ten (all the dogs get eleven, and one even gets a fifteen from Shiro). Keith squats down to draw in the sand with the tip of his finger when Shiro asks, and pulls back with a caricature of Shiro blowing a kiss to his rated-fifteen dog. It’s worth it to hear Shiro’s laughter. 

They waste time for about two hours or so before heading back to catch the start of the reception. But it’s the most fun Keith’s had the entire weekend. He could spend an entire weekend just watching Shiro watching the water, breeze in his hair, sand on his cheek, his mouth curled around the straw of a crappy milkshake Keith bought for him.

 

-

 

When they get back to the hotel, they follow the throng of people heading into the ballroom— “Of course there’s a ballroom,” Keith mutters darkly— where the tables are set up for the reception, complete with a dance floor spread out in front of the wedding party’s long stretch of table. Everything inside the ballroom is decorated much like the gardens, with fairy lights and flowers. 

“They really went all out, huh?” Keith asks, frowning up at the decorations and flowers. 

Shiro chuckles. “Looks that way. I think I get what you mean about the extravagance.” 

“I told you,” Keith says, side-eyeing up at Shiro, gauging his reaction. He doesn’t look upset anymore, or overwhelmed, which is good enough for Keith. He tugs on his hand and pulls him towards the table near the door, where everyone’s name plates are. “Come on. Let’s figure out where we’re sitting in this hellscape.” 

Shiro giggles. “ _Keith._ Don’t call it that.”

Keith hunts around for a long moment and, halfway through, realizes he shouldn’t be looking for a Shiro nameplate but instead _Takashi Shirogane (+1)._ He finds it, and snatches it up, holding it up to Shiro with a triumphant grin. 

“Ha. Table thirty-seven.” They make it there and Keith drops down into his seat and theatrically rubs his hands together, waiting until Shiro starts laughing again to say. “Finally, the thing I’ve been waiting for most: the food!” 

Shiro nudges his foot under the table. “You can’t possibly be hungry right after that milkshake.” 

“Watch me, Shirogane,” Keith says and pretends to roll up his sleeves. “I’ll eat your plate, too, if you don’t watch it.” 

“I don’t doubt it,” Shiro laughs. 

Keith beams, just glad that Shiro’s laughing again. The tables around them and their table fill up as others find their seats. The room buzzes with activity and conversation. Shiro doesn’t seem to recognize any of the people at their table, which is just as well. Still, Keith tells himself it’s better safe than sorry when he hooks his ankle around Shiro’s and keeps it there. Maybe nobody will see it with the lacey tablecloths, but it’s worth the effort. Shiro doesn’t protest, only smiling and blushing a little as he sips from his glass of champagne. 

Once Keith gets the food, he practically devours it even though it’s a weird time of day to be eating a big meal. He doesn’t care. He’ll be that old man eating dinner at four. Fuck it. He doesn’t pay much attention to what’s going on around them. He’s distantly aware of the brides arriving to a series of claps and cheers, some announcements, some time to eat food and get drinks. Mostly it’s a lot of people giving speeches to the brides that Keith doesn’t care about or has no context for. He’s glad they’re happy, but that’s about it. 

“Hey,” Shiro says after the loud squawking into microphones about in-jokes Keith doesn’t get dies down. 

“What’s up?” Keith asks, looking up form where he’s forming a mountain of vegetables Shiro hasn’t eaten because he filled up on chocolate milkshake like a heathen. 

Shiro bites his lip, looking uncertain. “I think… I should go talk to Adam. Clear the air. I don’t want this morning to be the last conversation we have.” 

Keith’s lips thin, but he can’t protest that. “You want me to go with you?”

“No, it’s alright,” Shiro reassures him, failing to recognize that Keith wants to come with him— make sure he’ll be alright, solidarity, _something_ — but Shiro’s hand falls over his and squeezes once before he’s disengaging. “I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”

“Wait,” Keith protests, hooking his hand around Shiro’s lapel. He tugs down and Shiro blinks at him, going to him. Keith presses his mouth to Shiro’s cheek, kissing it briefly before he can question it. He pulls back, blushing. “Um. For good luck?”

“Oh,” Shiro whispers, breathless. 

“Go on,” Keith says, patting his chest and turning away to stare down at his vegetables. He doesn’t watch Shiro go but hears his footsteps fade away. Once he’s far enough away, though, he looks up— seeking him out instantly. He doesn’t tear his eyes away, watching Shiro weave through the tables, effortlessly ducking out of the way of sloppier, drunker guests. He makes his way to Adam’s table. 

Keith watches Adam stand as Shiro approaches, moving to meet him. He says something and Shiro answers. They’re too far away for Keith to even begin to hear them. He can’t even really make out Adam’s expression. 

They stand there and talk for a long time. Something hot and coiling twists around Keith’s heart, festering. It’s an unfair reaction. He knows he’s being unfair to Adam, knows that Shiro is good and kind and wouldn’t date a completely heartless jerk. He knows this, logically. Emotionally, all he can do is hate Adam for ever being a cause of Shiro’s pain. He remembers the way Shiro looked at the brides today— like it was somehow something he didn’t deserve, could never have. Keith would break everything and anyone if it meant he could make sure Shiro never felt that way again. 

And then Adam and Shiro hug and Keith’s entire insides explode in a pit of jealousy and hatred. He can’t help it. He jerks his eyes away and stares down at his plate. He stabs at a roasted summer vegetable with as much vigor and anger as he can muster without cracking the earthenware in half. His grip is deathlike on his fork. 

He needs a drink. In jerky movements he manages to first set down his fork and then stand up, heading towards the bar set up at the back of the ballroom. It’s an open bar— about time, he thinks grumpily— but he just gets a beer anyway because that’s easier. He swallows a large mouthful and wipes the back of his mouth. He feels moody and stupid and jealous and childish and it’s _stupid._

Shiro is his friend. He should want him to be happy, no matter what. That includes reconciling with Adam. But that doesn’t mean Keith isn’t primed to hate Adam for the rest of his life for hurting Shiro in the first place. 

That’s what he tells himself when he feels someone step up beside him. At first he thinks it’s Shiro, but this person isn’t tall enough. He turns, and it’s one of the bridesmaids, her hair done up in pretty braids. She smiles at him and Keith manages a weak not-grimace back. 

“So,” she says, “are you a friend of the bride or the bride?”

She giggles at her own joke and Keith pulls another sip from his beer bottle, observing her. Her cheeks flush pink at Keith’s perceived attention. 

“Uh,” he says. “The bride.”

She laughs like he’s told a funny joke. Maybe he has. This time, he does manage a small smile. 

“Ashleigh,” he finally said, with a shrug. “I guess I’m a friend of Ashleigh’s. Technically.” 

“Technically?” she asks, swirling the straw of her own drink. She sways a little, her pink dress fluttering around her knees prettily. She shifts a little closer to him. She has dimples. They remind him a little bit of Shiro’s smile. 

“I’m a plus one,” Keith says with a shrug. “I don’t really know her.” 

“Oh,” she says, smiling. “Friend or family or…?”

“Boyfriend,” Shiro says from behind Keith, nearly making him startle and drop his beer bottle. His voice is so firm, so sudden. It sounds deep. A moment later, Shiro’s arm wraps around Keith and Shiro just drapes over him. He smiles at the bridesmaid. He says, “Hi.” 

It’s just about the coldest _hi_ Keith’s ever heard Shiro say. 

“Oh,” the bridesmaid says again. She’s still smiling, but there’s a different edge to it. She looks at Shiro and blushes more. “Hi.” 

“Making friends, baby?” Shiro asks Keith, and maybe says something else after that but all Keith can hear is _baby, baby, baby—_ before his brain completely shuts down. 

He might squeak. He might answer. He doesn’t know. His entire vision tunnels around the one word, his entire body hypnotized by the sound of Shiro’s voice calling him that, the weight of his arm wrapped around him. Almost possessive. Like Keith really does belong to him. 

He’s distantly aware that the bridesmaid and Shiro are talking to one another. Keith just stands there like a mute idiot as Shiro’s hand shifts over his shoulder and drapes, fingertips just brushing over his clavicle, fiddling with the lapel of his suit jacket. Keith swallows thickly. 

Keith picks at the beer label. When he comes back to himself, the bridesmaid is gone and it’s just him and Shiro. He doesn’t say anything right away, still zeroed in on the drape of Shiro’s arm around him. He takes another sip of his beer. More like a gulp. 

He twists a little, looking up at Shiro, curiosity winning out in the end. 

“Hey,” Shiro says when Keith looks up. He’s frowning. “Too much?”

“No,” Keith says, or more like squeaks, his voice sounding strained to his ears. “Um. You talked to Adam?” 

“Oh, um, yeah,” Shiro says, still not moving his arm from around Keith’s shoulders. “We’re good.”

“Right,” Keith says, and licks his lips. “I’m happy for you.” 

Shiro’s smile quirks up at the corner as he looks at him. “Happy, huh? You sound like you want to go over there and punch him in the face.” 

“That obvious?” Keith mutters and takes a long pull from his beer. 

“Only a little,” Shiro says. 

“I’m glad you worked it out,” Keith says. “I still kind of hate him, though.” 

Shiro nods. “I get it. You’re allowed.” He shrugs, absently. “It’s over now. You probably won’t see him again after this, so hate him all you want.” 

“Are you okay?” Keith asks. 

Shiro smiles at him and nods. “I’m okay, Keith. Thanks.” 

“So… that’s it then, yeah?” Keith asks, watching Shiro’s face. “Feel less weird about being here?”

“ _Definitely_ still weird,” Shiro laughs. He scrubs his hand through his hair, messing it all up. 

Keith finishes off his beer and sets it down, then reaches up to adjust Shiro’s collar for him. Shiro’s arm around him shifts, hand splaying out over his back, still curled around Keith. It feels nice. Keith’s fingertips linger at Shiro’s collar, thumb pressing at the top button, just below Shiro’s throat. He watches Shiro swallow. 

“So, let it be weird,” Keith says. “We’ve come this far.” 

“Uh huh,” Shiro says, strained. Keith drags his thumb down the line of Shiro’s buttons. He feels the swell of Shiro’s chest as he sucks in a deep breath. 

“So…” 

“Yeah?” Shiro asks, sounding breathless.

“Is it too weird to… I don’t know. Dance or something?” Keith asks, inclining his head towards where some of the guests are dancing on the dance floor. “Seems appropriately boyfriend-y.” 

Shiro’s mouth twitches and he doesn’t answer right away, and as soon as he says it Keith worries he’s somehow overstepped or teased too much. Or, worse, because he’s talked to Adam he doesn’t _need_ to pretend anymore and now Keith looks like the desperate, lovestruck idiot that he’s been this entire weekend. He pulls his thumb away from where it was circling one of Shiro’s buttons. 

“Dancing, huh?” Shiro asks, looking out at the dance floor, where couples sway together. The music’s playing, but not too loud. Most people are done with their dinner and milling around, waiting for the cake. 

“You’re right, it’s stupid, I—”

“No,” Shiro interrupts, gently, but his face is firm as he stares out at the dance floor. He turns to Keith and drops his arm from around him, but only so he can take up his hand. “You’re right. Who cares, let it be weird. I’m going to win this breakup.” 

Keith laughs, breathless, as he tugs on Keith’s hand and then leads him towards the dance floor. Keith goes willingly, breathing out another surprised laugh as Shiro snaps him close and curls his arms around him, swaying with him across the dance floor. Keith drapes his arms over his shoulders and holds on tight. 

“Should probably tell you I don’t really know how to dance,” Keith confesses. 

“Oh yeah?” Shiro waggles his eyebrows and does some fancy footwork, leaving Keith to trip along. Keith laughs, breathless and floaty. 

“Well, that’s one way to show off,” Keith laughs. 

Shiro laughs. He looks happy. He looks like he’s having fun. His shoulders flex beneath Keith’s hands. Keith wants, quite painfully, to kiss him. And, as always, he resists. 

“What can I say? I’ve got a talent,” Shiro says, laughing. 

Keith lets him lead, following him along and letting himself relax. Today’s been a long day, really. It’s hardly over yet, but at least it’s something. He glances over Shiro’s shoulder and sees Adam sitting at his table. He isn’t looking at them, instead talking to someone else, a man with a big smile and long hair. They’re holding hands.

“Oh,” Keith says. 

Shiro spins them and looks over Keith’s shoulder now, in Adam’s direction. “Oh, yeah,” he says. “Adam told me he’s dating someone now, too.” 

“Are you alright with that?” Keith asks. 

Shiro smiles at him and squeezes his hand before he dips Keith. Keith nearly falls flat on his back, it’s so unexpected, but then he’s laughing when Shiro rights him again, grinning at him.

“Yeah. I’m fine with it, Keith. I told you before. I’m over Adam.” 

“Okay,” Keith says. “Just making sure.” 

Shiro nods, looking satisfied, and together they cut across the dance floor. Eventually Keith gets comfortable enough and bold enough to take the lead, abusing his spin technique to get Shiro dancing around him and pivoting with a laugh. It’s the only move he knows, but Shiro seems to have fun every time Keith whips him into a twirl. He even tries to dip Shiro and manages it. Shiro dramatically pops his leg up for added effect. 

They keep dancing for a while before they slow, out of breath. Keith laughs a little as Shiro grins at him. It’s fun. They’re having fun. Keith leans against Shiro even once they stop moving to the music, off on the side of the dance floor. He slumps against Shiro, but Shiro’s there to keep him upright— one arm curled around him, the other cupping the back of his head. Keith closes his eyes. He could happily stay like this for the whole night.

“Shiro…” he sighs, and his voice comes out far too wistful. He can hear it. He wants to snatch it back, but it isn’t enough for him to recoil, either.

Shiro, for his part, just tightens his hold on him. He takes a step back, off the dance floor, and Keith follows him. He hums a little, keeping his arms wrapped loosely around Shiro. Just leaning against him. It’s safe, like this. Comfortable. 

They stop moving once they’re at the edge of the ballroom, towards the French doors that exit out into the gardens. 

Keith looks up at Shiro. Shiro’s looking back at him.

All around them, the couples dancing leave the stage, laugh together, and a few of them kiss—  
quick pecks, nothing extravagant. They’re still technically on the dance floor, although the outskirts of it. They should probably move off and away, Keith thinks, as they cease dancing and a new song begins. 

Keith’s so in love, it’s almost physically painful. Shiro’s holding him, so gently. Shiro’s spent the entire weekend with him, curled around him, hovering over him. It’s like any other time they’ve hung out, but charged— too much. Not enough. 

There’s no reason to keep doing this, Keith knows. It’s just been a weekend with his best friend, and maybe the hand-holding pushes on that. Keith’s ears still echo the _baby_ from earlier. There’s no reason for Keith’s hands to go soft against Shiro, for his eyes to almost close as he looks up at Shiro’s handsome, smiling face. 

Adam’s dating someone else, too. It doesn’t matter. Shiro’s over him. It doesn’t matter. They could end this entire lie right now and it wouldn’t matter.

Or, Keith thinks as he lifts himself up onto the tips of his toes, just a little, just a hair— he could go ahead and ruin it. 

Keith leans in and kisses Shiro. It’s the lightest brush, nothing at all— and even as he does it, he knows it’s a mistake, knows he’s irrevocably ruined something that he won’t be able to take back.

He leans back quickly, suddenly unsure, suddenly shy. His heart hammers away in his chest. He’s afraid to look back up at Shiro, who’s gone totally still in his arms. 

Keith takes a long, deep breath. He steadies himself. Neither of them are saying anything, and that’s somehow the most alarming of all. 

When he dares to look up, Shiro’s looking at him already. He doesn’t look angry, more shocked than anything else. It doesn’t quite show on his face, but it’s there in his eyes. He’s looking at Keith like he’s trying to study him. The hands on Keith’s body feel the slightest bit trembly, or maybe that’s just because Keith feels like he’s going to shake apart.

“Shiro…” Keith begins, and trails off when he finds he has nothing to say. He expected Shiro to cut him off, to pull away, to do _something_ other than just stare at him like this, like he’s trying to puzzle Keith together. 

It should be obvious by now. Why isn’t it obvious? Maybe he can still reconcile this. Maybe he can take it back. Maybe he can play it off as a display, as something for the people around them. 

But none of it matters. None of them matters. Adam isn’t looking at them. They’ll never see Adam’s family again. None of it _matters_. 

Shiro hesitates further, then bites his lip. He isn’t shoving Keith away. He isn’t even blushing anymore. He’s just— looking at him.

“Hey, Keith… can we talk?” Shiro finally asks. 

Something thuds in Keith’s chest and he nods. He can deny Shiro nothing. He aims for casual and misses entirely, landing in strained and terrified: “Yeah, sure. What about?” 

A stupid question. He almost flinches. 

But Shiro, of course, is as kind as he always is even as he steps out of the circle of Keith’s arms. “About… everything.” 

Shiro does take his hand, though, as they exit through the French doors on the side of the ballroom and onto the veranda. Keith inhales the scent of roses and feels dizzy. Maybe he should have grabbed another drink. 

Shiro doesn’t press him right away and Keith’s content to just walk with him. Somehow it doesn’t quite feel like walking to the gallows, but it feels strained all the same. Still, something like hope blooms inside Keith. Shiro isn’t running away. Shiro isn’t freaking out at him. Maybe—

No. Too stupid to hope for. But, he knows Shiro, and he knows that his friendship matters as much to Shiro as it does to Keith. He won’t push Keith away, no matter how much Keith’s pushed this, potentially ruined his. 

That’s what he keeps telling himself as they head into the gardens. They drop down off the steps of the veranda and follow a pebbled pathway. Keith can’t help but think that each step is leading him to the death of their friendship, or at least the death of their friendship as it’s been up until this point. Maybe he can brush it off as a show, but there’s no reason for him to do this anymore. There’s no reason, either, for Shiro to hold his hand like this. 

Up close, the rose bushes are really tall, hiding them from sight of the rest of the ballroom. Keith prefers it that way, at least. Even if Adam isn’t really a factor, he doesn’t want to be seen. He chews the inside of his cheek and looks up at Shiro. They keep walking. They’re still holding hands. 

Keith looks down once they pause. He studies the stones at their feet. “Shiro?” he prompts. “What did you want to talk about?” 

He might as well get it over with. He lets go of Shiro’s hand and crosses his arms over his chest. Protective. Defensive. Ready for this all to end. 

“Okay. Yeah. Talking. We need to just… talk,” Shiro sighs, soft and uncertain, and Keith closes his eyes for a moment to steady himself against the question he knows is coming. “What Adam said this morning—”

He cuts off. Keith waits. Not starting with the kiss in the ballroom, then. 

When Shiro isn’t forthcoming, he sighs, opens his eyes, and looks at Shiro. “What about what Adam said?” 

“I just… I can’t keep lying to you. Please. Let me start here,” Shiro whispers. He doesn’t elaborate for a moment. Shiro looks like he’s the cornered one, not Keith, and he almost startles when Keith looks at him. He’s quiet for a moment, studying Keith. Finally, he asks, “Keith. You… had a crush on me?” 

Keith breathes out. He knows he can’t lie. He feels off-center. He feels exposed. Everything inside him is telling him to run away. But there’s no reason to lie. So he nods. 

“Yeah. I did.” He hesitates and adds, “I was crazy about you, Shiro.” 

“Oh,” Shiro says, very quietly. 

The smell of roses is suffocating. He’s going to die. His entire life is zeroing in on this moment. 

Then even quieter, Shiro says, “Right. Was.” He looks down, silent for a long moment, staring at his hand, clenched and empty at his side. After a moment, he looks up at Keith, his expression pinched. “I’m sorry, Keith. I never realized.” 

“I didn’t want you to,” Keith says, feeling mortified and upended, like he’s walking through this conversation backwards. He’s not sure why they’re starting here, why they’re dragging it out. He _kissed_ Shiro inside for no reason. That should be explanation enough. 

But—

 _Right. Was._ He doesn’t know what to do with Shiro’s tone there, the intense way he stares at his hands before making his expression soften when looking back up at Keith. 

They look at each other for a long moment. Keith snaps his gaze away first, staring out over the garden. 

“So you…” Shiro starts and trails off. Before Keith can question him beyond a small hum, Shiro continues, “… You liked me. While I was engaged and— you liked me.” 

Keith turns back towards Shiro and he looks _utterly_ miserable. 

“Hey,” Keith whispers, and tugs Shiro in. He pulls him into a hug, arms wrapped around him. His head presses to his shoulder and stays there. Shiro is still for a moment before he returns the gesture, folding himself around Keith, enveloping him. 

“Shouldn’t I be the one comforting you?” Shiro mutters. One of his hands rests on Keith’s lower back. The other cups the back of his neck. Keith closes his eyes and shivers. 

“You looked like you were about to cry,” Keith says, voice soft.

“Please,” Shiro says, as if he hasn’t looked like he was going to cry earlier today, too. “God. Keith. I’m so sorry. If I ever did anything…”

“What do you mean?” Keith presses when Shiro doesn’t elaborate. 

“I don’t know,” Shiro admits, sounding shy. “You liked me and I… I don’t know. I must have talked about Adam with you, right? Or— anything. Maybe I said stupid things that made it had to be around me or… you were just…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Keith asks, genuinely confused by Shiro’s reaction to Keith’s supposed past crush on him. 

“Being my friend… it must have been difficult sometimes,” Shiro answers, blushing. 

Keith frowns.

“Right?” Shiro prompts when Keith’s silent. 

“Stop… stop talking like somehow being your friend is a consolation prize,” Keith mutters, annoyed suddenly. “Yeah, I liked you. I thought sometimes about what it’d be like to— date you or be with you. Or kiss you. But that didn’t make being your friend somehow… not as good.” 

“Oh,” Shiro says, quietly. 

“Has this been bothering you all day?” Keith asks.

Shiro doesn’t answer right away, which is answer enough. Finally, he breathes, “Maybe.” 

“Shiro!” Keith cries out, pulling back from the hug enough to glare up at him. 

“Sorry,” Shiro says in a rush, eyes wide, biting his lip. “I just… I kept thinking about how you must have felt back then and… I don’t know. I felt bad.” 

“Shiro, you’re…” Keith pauses, hating to be pressed so close to Shiro like this but also grateful he won’t have to see his face. He buries his face back against Shiro’s shoulder. “You’re— everything to me, okay?”

“I— Keith…”

“Without you, I don’t know where I’d be in my life right now. Okay? Stop somehow taking what should be a compliment and beating yourself up over it. I had a crush on you. Get over it!” 

He nearly flinches, afraid it’ll sound too harsh. But Shiro, of course, understands what Keith means and merely chuckles. It’s a soft sound but it vibrates through his chest. Keith can feel Shiro’s laugh over every inch of his body. 

“Alright, alright…” he says, his voice soft. “I just— I’d hate to think you were ever, I don’t know, in pain while hanging out with me.”

Keith shakes his head and squeezes Shiro a little tighter before tipping his head back to look up at him. Shiro’s looking down at him, his eyes just as soft as his voice. 

Keith’s quiet for a long moment, arrested by the look in Shiro’s eyes. When he finally remembers to speak, his words don’t come as easily as before, but are no less felt. “How could I be in pain when I have you in my life?” 

Shiro’s expression melts into something soft, tentative, his smile unbearably sweet. “Keith…” 

There’s a wild burst of noise behind them that nearly startles Keith out of his skin. A moment later, a few drunk wedding guests amble past, twisting down a different path in the gardens, laughing and carrying on. Shiro and Keith watch them go. Keith’s heart hammers away in his chest.

“Okay,” Keith says, looking back up at Shiro. “You’re not allowed to beat yourself up over this anymore, okay? You can just let it go. It was a while ago.” 

Shiro nods, looking tentative. Keith can see he’s forming the words he wants to say and waits, watching him. 

Finally, Shiro heaves a deep breath. 

“So you’re… over your crush now,” Shiro says, and it’s a question but also a statement, in a way, and Keith can’t quite place his tone, can’t quite place the pinch of his eyes. It isn’t relief, Keith knows that much. It isn’t quite curious, either. 

Keith hesitates, a moment too long, he thinks, and fears it speaks too much, that Shiro will _know_ and they’ll be in for an awkward rest of the weekend and rest of their friendship. If this is the way Shiro reacts just to the idea of Keith once having a crush, how would he react to knowing that the crush hasn’t so much faded as it’s bloomed into something deep and expansive and clinging to his very being like a barnacle? 

Keith hesitates and then looks down. He manages words that aren’t a lie but aren’t quite the truth, either. “You’re my friend, Shiro. You’re always going to be my friend.” 

Keith stares at the ground. Shiro’s weight shifts from foot to foot. Keith watches him move like that, unable to look back up again. His entire face feels like it’s on fire. 

Shiro takes a deep breath. “I never really told you the reason why Adam and I broke up, huh?”

 _That_ gets Keith to look up. He blinks at him. “You never wanted to talk about it.” 

“I mean,” Shiro says, voice going quieter. “You know most of it. We just— drifted apart. We were planning the wedding and then we weren’t and then we were not really talking and then we were fighting a lot and. I don’t know. I mean. I do know. I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready with _him._ It just fell apart.”

Keith nods. He knows all this part. He can tell that Shiro’s ramping up.

Shiro fidgets with his hands, not looking at Keith now. “I’m selfish, you know. I just… I focus on myself, on what I want. I couldn’t give him the attention he needed, and we were already drifting apart. Asking me to marry him was just a last-ditch effort to fix what was already gone.”

“Shiro,” Keith says, heartfelt. “You aren’t selfish. I can’t think of someone more selfless than you.”

Shiro shakes his head. “This entire weekend is just proof I’m selfish. Being here. Bringing you here. God— I’m a jerk.” 

“Shiro,” Keith protests, but Shiro shakes his head. 

“I’m a mess, Keith. Maybe I’m not… boyfriend material, you know? I focus on myself, what I want. It was always about hanging out with friends. Working. Studying. Just having some time to myself. It was… He stopped being a priority and that’s… not good in a relationship, when he’s not even on the short list of people I want to confide in.” 

He looks at Keith for a long moment and then away again. His fingers twist together. 

Keith feels a sinking realization. “Shiro… you can’t be only blaming yourself for the relationship ending.” 

Shiro shrugs. “It’s a bad sign when you’d rather spend the day on your own or with your best friend than with your fiancé. I stopped wearing his ring— that’s really awful of me.” 

“It didn’t fit your finger properly,” Keith protests weakly. 

“That’s easy to fix,” Shiro answers. He stares down at his fingers now, twisting them into knots around each other. He doesn’t look at Keith. “And, anyway, it’s just… Adam and I were having troubles before all that and it just was putting a bandaid on a wound. It wasn’t ever going to work. And maybe a big part of me didn’t want it to work. I didn’t even try.” 

“That’s not true,” Keith says, but he can’t know if it’s true or not. He just knows Shiro. And he knows Shiro’s tendency to take on responsibility and blame, to see the worst in himself, to carry something like this for so long without ever acknowledging it. God, how many days did Shiro, sitting on Keith’s porch swing, stare off into space and blame himself for ruining a future happiness? All those times when Shiro was lost in thought, was he doing this? 

“I had a crush on you, too,” Shiro says, quiet, as if afraid to speak the words.

Keith snaps his head up. “I’m sorry— what?” 

“I had a crush on you, too,” Shiro repeats. “I didn’t realize I did at first. Adam and I used to fight about it all the time. He’d insist I had feelings for you that weren’t just friendship and I’d deny it. But… he was right. I did. I liked you _so much_ and I didn’t even realize.”

“Oh my god,” Keith whispers, eyes wide. “Oh god. I’m the reason you guys broke up?” 

“No!” Shiro is quick to say. “No, no. No, Keith. Adam and I were already on the rocks before I— started feeling that way about you. It was just one of a bunch of things we fought about. And back then, it was just a crush, you know? I didn’t even realize it. It wasn’t like I was in love with you yet.” 

Keith goes very still for a moment. 

There’s more yelling behind them. More drunk idiots stumbling around the garden. Keith grabs Shiro’s hand and tugs, pulls him further into the garden. They go so deep, the sun’s blocked out behind taller trees and shrubs. It feels cooler here, shadows stretching. They find an alcove, secret and away from the reception, and Keith turns towards Shiro with wide eyes. 

“ _Yet_?” he whispers. He holds his breath.

He watches Shiro’s eyes widen. Shiro sucks in a sharp breath, his entire body tensing up. 

“Keith, I—” he begins, looking cornered. Keith has no idea what his expression could be, only that he’s staring up at Shiro, hanging on every word. Shiro presses his hands to his face, taking a deep breath. “God. I.” 

He doesn’t complete the thought. He doesn’t look at Keith. 

Keith, realizing he’s holding his breath, lets it sink out of him in a long sigh. He’s trembling, he realizes. Shaking like a leaf. Shiro isn’t looking at him. 

“Shiro,” he murmurs. 

He steps forward and touches Shiro’s wrists. But Shiro’s eyes are slammed shut. He takes a shuddering, steadying breath. Keith watches him the entire time, his hold loose and easy to wrench away from. 

“Are you…?” Keith begins, then pauses, letting his voice drop down into something lower and gentler, “Are you in love with me, Shiro?” 

Shiro sighs out and drops his hands from his face, looking at him. Then, slowly, he nods. 

Keith doesn’t know how to process that. He stares at Shiro for a long moment, as if waiting for an explanation or a denial or some sort of reason to justify how he’s misunderstood the nod. 

“Oh,” Keith says. 

He watches Shiro wilt a little, eyes flickering over his face and then away. “I’m sorry, Keith.” 

“Sorry?” Keith parrots, and then he steps closer into Shiro’s space. It’s a weird angle he needs to duck down to in order to catch Shiro’s eyes, but he manages it. He says, softly, “Hey…” 

Shiro looks a bit like a cornered animal, but he isn’t running away just yet. Instead, he hesitates before meeting Keith’s eyes. “I’m sorry… I’ve ruined it, haven’t I? I’ve ruined everything with this stupid weekend and I—” 

Keith’s response is to lift his hand to touch Shiro’s cheek and then lean in to kiss him. His mouth barely brushes over his.

Shiro startles and nearly pulls back, “Keith, wh—”

Keith licks his lips, his heart thundering in his chest. “Shiro. Read the room.”

Something that’s almost a smile flickers across Shiro’s mouth as he looks at him, brow pinched. “Keith—”

“I love you, too,” Keith says, and it’s a testament to his poker face that he doesn’t melt just saying it, that his face doesn’t mirror the raging flip-flopping his heart’s doing inside his chest. Instead, he gives Shiro what he’s sure is an entirely too wobbly smile. “Shiro. You _really_ don’t have to be sorry. Please.” 

“Oh,” Shiro gasps, and then his smile turns less tentative and more hopeful. “Then we—”

“Can stop talking, yes,” Keith suggests, and cups Shiro’s face. He tugs him down and kisses him, and this time Shiro doesn’t pull back.

He kisses Shiro, long and slow and lingering, feeling breathless just from the contact alone. He feels like he’s about to burst into flames when he feels Shiro touch him, hands at his waist. It’s a small touch, simple and hesitant despite the firmness of it, and Keith presses in closer, fingers hooking into Shiro’s jaw to angle him down. 

Shiro makes a soft sound into the kiss, which just fuels Keith onward. Feeling bold, he bites Shiro’s lip and then sweeps in, kissing him deep, pulling each sound from Shiro. And Shiro _does_ make sounds, is almost unreasonably responsive— he sighs, he gasps, he whispers what might be Keith’s name between kisses. Keith’s addicted to it. 

When they draw back again, Shiro follows after him, as if he’s about to catch Keith’s mouth again. But he pauses, blinking his eyes open, expression soft and open and _longing_ as he looks at Keith. Keith can feel his breath ghosting over his mouth with how close they stay. 

Keith blinks once, bites his lip, and fights back a ridiculous, delirious smile. His fingertips brush down Shiro’s jaw, lingering there at the spot where his dimples flash whenever he smiles wide. 

“Wow,” Shiro whispers, just a soft breath. His eyes are clear but maybe shine a little as he looks at Keith. Shiro licks his lips and Keith just stares at his mouth, at the way it curves up into a little smile. 

“Yeah,” Keith says, more for the sake of saying something. He wants to touch every inch of Shiro. It occurs to him that he might be allowed to, if he asks. That Shiro _loves_ him. Too. Shiro loves him, too. 

“Wow,” Shiro says again as he crowds into Keith’s space, pushes him back up against a tree and dips forward to catch his mouth again. Keith tips his chin up to meet him immediately, his arms curling around Shiro’s neck and anchoring him down to him. 

It feels— almost like it’s always felt. Maybe that’s what leaves Keith wondering the most. How many times has Shiro held him close like this? The only difference being the way Shiro whispers his name, like he’s breathless and dying, his mouth pressed to his. Keith can’t count the number of times he’s held Shiro like this. How many times he’s looked into his eyes, just looking at him. How many times Shiro’s never had to say a word for Keith to understand. The easy laughter. The teasing. The warm smiles. Shiro’s hands on him. 

Suddenly, Keith knows he’s an idiot. How easily they fell into this. How easily it was here all along. 

He bites down on Shiro’s bottom lip just to pull another sound from Shiro’s throat, and licks it once in apology before drawing back. He blinks a few times, breathing heavily, and looks up at Shiro. 

Shiro takes a moment to open his eyes, but when he does, he locks onto Keith’s and just smiles at him, helpless and boyish and achingly beautiful. Shiro’s hands feel big and promising against his waist. 

Keith lurches forward, nuzzling at Shiro’s jaw and pressing a line of kisses up to Shiro’s ear. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers. 

“I can’t believe,” Keith whispers, “You agreed to the stupidest plan I’ve ever come up with.”

“Could say that about you, too,” Shiro murmurs. 

Keith feels too over the moon to feel embarrassed. Oh, no, maybe this was one of his smarter ideas ever, if this is the result. 

A shout rings out behind them, followed by a shower of giggles. Then, from the veranda, an announcement comes that the cake’s going to get cut soon. Keith hardly hears it and just tightens his hold around Shiro’s shoulders as he kisses and bites at Shiro’s neck.

“Honestly?” Keith says as he pulls back. “Fuck the cake.” 

_I’d rather fuck you,_ he thinks, and doesn’t say because somehow that feels a little too bold too quickly. It must show on his face, though, because Shiro’s entire face goes pink and his smile takes on a slight edge. He squeezes Keith’s waist. 

“But you love cake,” Shiro tells him, and his voice is a little husky, kind of the way he sounded last night in bed. Keith shivers. 

“Maybe,” Keith says. He does love cake. He has no idea what flavor of cake it is and maybe he’s a little curious. But it’s hard to think about cake properly when Shiro’s pressed up to him like this, sandwiching him between the tree trunk and his body. He skims his hands over Shiro’s chest and shoulders, down his arms. Just touches him. Because he can. 

“Hey,” Shiro whispers, voice low. This time he ducks down a little, nosing at Keith’s jaw and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Let’s get you some cake. And then we can get out of here. Talk some more.”

There’s something promising in his deep tone that plucks at Keith’s insides. 

Keith snorts, helplessly. “ _Talk._ ”

“Really talk,” Shiro confirms, but his voice still sounds like _that_ and so Keith isn’t sure he believes him.

Keith’s tempted still to forget about the cake, to just drag Shiro through that ballroom and back to their room. Or, better yet, just never leave this garden. But maybe a small part of him can be practical, too. Maybe. 

The world feels all fuzzy around him. All his thoughts are swirling together and most of them are about Shiro. 

With no small sense of wonder, he says, “You liked me. You _like_ me.” 

“Yeah,” Shiro agrees and his smile turns shy. “So much, Keith. You have no idea.” 

Keith’s face turns pink and he ducks his head, fighting back a smile. He touches Shiro’s chest again, adjusting the lapels of his suit jacket. Shiro leans into his touch, his weight comforting and heavy and _his._ It’s so much like everything else about them, how familiar it is to have Shiro in his space. To touch him like this now. 

Keith looks up and presses forward, catching Shiro’s mouth with his again in another long, drawn-out kiss. Shiro sighs against him and sinks closer to him. The bark at his back scratches a little but Keith can’t care, hooking one leg over Shiro’s, feeling the back of his calf, settling behind his knee. Keeping him close, possessive. His. Now that he has him, now that he’s allowed to touch, there’s no way he’s letting go. 

Shiro squirms a little when Keith drags his hands over him, pressing closer and kissing him deeper. There’s an edge of desperation that Keith wants to follow, wants to tip over that edge with Shiro and just fall, fall, fall— But Shiro sighs and draws back, pressing his forehead to Keith’s, and they’re forced to catch their breath again. 

Shiro brushes his nose to his. It’s pathetically adorable. Keith’s not sure if he remembers how to breathe or not, how he can exist in a world where his leg’s hooked around Shiro and he can practically feel the line of his dick through their clothes, but then he goes and does something sweet like a forehead touch. Keith touches his cheek, feeling sappy and pathetic. 

“I can’t believe you feel the same way,” Shiro confesses, and his eyes are so bright up this close. Keith’s going to fall right into them. 

“How could I not?” Keith says, disbelieving, because the reality is that he can’t believe _Shiro_ feel this way, that this entire weekend, Shiro’s heart might have been racing the same way Keith’s was every time they were touching, laughing, orbiting each other. It’s absurd. 

“I really… You really had no idea about how I felt?” Shiro asks.

“None,” Keith confesses, although in hindsight now he can see how obvious the signs are. How every time this weekend Keith was freaking out, Shiro as right there beside him. He licks his lips. “Um. You can give me the play by play later.” 

Shiro laughs, breathless and beautiful. Everything about him is beautiful, Keith thinks, moony and weak. He brushes his thumb over Shiro’s cheek, marvels at the way Shiro’s face goes soft and he leans into the touch. He’s pretty sure he’s never going to get tired of seeing Shiro blush like this. 

They do end up getting a piece of cake. Ashleigh is apparently allergic to chocolate, because there are two cakes, one chocolate and one lemon. Keith gets a piece of the chocolate and feeds it to Shiro. He begrudgingly tries the lemon and decides the chocolate is far superior. They dance a little more. They get a few more drinks. Keith tugs Shiro down and kisses him, long and slow and promising, at the end of the night and never once does it occur to him to wonder if anyone is looking— it doesn’t matter. There’s only Shiro, and Shiro melting into the kiss before returning it, cupping Keith’s face like he’s precious. 

“Hey,” Shiro whispers, later, once they’re back in their room and Keith’s shoving Shiro down onto the bed and crawling after him, working at the buttons of his shirt.

“Yeah?” Keith asks, soft and breathless and fiddling with those stupid buttons. 

Shiro bites his lip around a wide smile, pushing the hair from Keith’s face with one hand. “Is it okay if I call you my boyfriend… you know, for real?” 

Keith looks at him and finishes the last button off, opening up his shirt and dragging his hand down Shiro’s chest. 

“ _Yes,_ ” he says, empathetically— and then dips down to prove how very okay with that he is.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
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>  
> 
>  **ETA:** Thank you so much to Cruel for this [drawing this beautiful fanart](https://twitter.com/CruelisB/status/1068654898940706816). Be sure to check it out!!
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/stardropdream) // [Dreamwidth](https://stardropdream.dreamwidth.org/)


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